7^ 


' 


THE   STEAM-SHOVEL   MAN 


.  Of 


CAUF.  UBBAHY.  .-OS  ANGF.LE* 


BOOKS   BY   RALPH   D.   PAINE 

PUBLISHED    BY    CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

CAMPOS  DAYS.    Illustrated,     umo  ....    $1.50 

SANDY     SAWYER.     SOPHOMORE.       Illus- 
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THE  STROKE  OAR.    Illustrated,     izmo   .     .    $1.50 

THE    FUGITIVE    FRESHMAN.      Illustrated. 

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THE  HEAD  COACH.    Illustrated.     I2mo  .     .    $1.50 
COLLEGE  YEARS.    Illustrated,     nmo  .     .     .    $1.50 


THE    STEAM-SHOVEL    MAN.      Illustrated. 

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THE    DRAGON    AND    THE   CROSS.     Illus- 
trated     I2mo Si. 23 

THE    WRECKING     MASTER.       Illustrated. 

I2mo $1.25 

A    CADET    OF    THE    BLACK    STAR    LINE. 
Illustrated,     izmo $1.25 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  CAPTAIN  O'SHEA. 

I2mo M«<     Si  .35 


He  stood  at  the  brink  of  this  tremendous  chasm 


THE 
STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 


By 
RALPH  D.  PAINE 

Author  of  "A  Cadet  of  the  Black  Star  Line,"  "The  Wrecking  Master,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

B.  J.  ROSENMEYER 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1913 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


Published  September,  1913 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

1.     Walter  Goodwin's  Quest 3 

II.     The  Parrot  and  the  Broomstick    ...  24 

III.  With  the  Dynamite  Gang 44 

IV.  A  Landslide  in  the  Cut 66 

V.     Trapped  in  Old  Panama     .....  91 

VI.     Jack  Devlin  in  Action 112 

VII.     A  Fat  Rascal  Comes  to  Grief  ....  132 

VIII.     Walter  Squares  an  Account     ....  152 

IX.     A  Parent's  Anxious  Pilgrimage     .     .     .  172 

X.     Base-Ball  and  a  Happy  Family     .     .     .  193 


2132029 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


He  stood  at  the  brink  of  this  tremendous  chasm     .   Frotttispicce 

Facing; 
Page 

Lifting  his  feet  very  high  and  setting  them  down  with 

the  greatest  caution 50 


"Viva  Panama!    Pobre  Colombia  I    Ha!  Ha!  Hal"      .    .    108 

"Report  to  me  as  soon  as  you  come  back.     And  bring 

Goodwin  with  you" 144 


THE   STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

CHAPTER  I 

WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

A  STOUT,  elderly  man  stepped  from  a  street- 
car on  the  water-front  of  New  York  and  has- 
tened toward  the  nearest  wharf  at  a  lumbering 
trot.  He  held  in  one  hand  a  large  suit-case 
which  must  have  been  insecurely  fastened,  for, 
as  he  dodged  to  avoid  collision  with  other  way- 
farers, the  lid  flew  open  and  all  sorts  of  things 
began  to  spill  out. 

The  weather-beaten  gentleman  was  hi  such 
a  violent  hurry  and  his  mind  was  so  preoc- 
cupied that  he  failed  to  notice  the  disaster,  and 
was  leaving  in  his  wake  a  trail  of  slippers,  shirts, 
hair-brushes,  underwear,  collars,  and  what  not, 
that  suggested  a  game  of  hare-and-hounds.  In 
fact,  the  treacherous  suit-case  had  almost 
emptied  itself  before  he  paid  heed  to  the  shouts 
of  uproarious  laughter  from  the  delighted 
teamsters,  roustabouts,  and  idlers.  With  a 

3 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

snort,  he  fetched  up  to  glare  behind  him,  and 
his  expression  conveyed  wrath  and  dismay. 

This  kind  of  misfortune,  like  the  case  of  the 
man  who  sits  down  on  his  own  hat,  excites 
boundless  mirth  but  no  sympathy  whatever. 
The  victim  stood  stock-still  and  continued  to 
glare  and  sputter  as  if  here  was  a  situation  to- 
tally beyond  him. 

A  tall  lad,  passing  that  way,  jumped  to  the 
rescue  and  began  to  gather  up  the  scattered 
wreckage.  He  was  laughing  as  heartily  as  the 
rest  of  them — for  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  help 
it — but  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman  prompted 
him  to  undertake  the  work  of  salvage.  As  fast 
as  an  armful  was  collected,  the  owner  savagely 
rammed  it  into  the  suit-case,  and  when  this 
young  friend  in  need,  Walter  Goodwin  by  name, 
came  running  up  with  the  last  consignment  he 
growled,  after  fumbling  in  his  pockets: 

"Not  a  blessed  cent  of  change  left!  Come 
aboard  my  ship  and  I'll  square  it  with  you.  If  I 
had  time,  I'd  punch  the  heads  of  a  few  of  those 
loafing  swabs  who  stood  and  laughed  at  me." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  paid  for  doing  a 
little  favor  like  that,"  said  Goodwin.  "And  I 

4 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

am  afraid  I  laughed,  too.    It  did  look  funny, 
honestly." 

"You  come  along  and  do  as  I  tell  you," 
rumbled  the  heated  mariner,  who  had  paid  not 
the  least  attention  to  these  remarks.  "Do  you 
mind  shouldering  this  confounded  bag?  I  am 
getting  short-winded,  and  it  may  fly  open  again. 
Had  two  nights  ashore  with  my  family  in  Balti- 
more— train  held  up  by  a  wreck  last  night — 
must  have  had  a  poor  navigator — made  me  six 
hours  late — ought  to  have  been  aboard  ship 
this  morning — I  sail  at  five  this  afternoon." 

He  appeared  to  be  talking  to  himself  rather 
than  to  Walter  Goodwin,  who  could  not  refuse 
further  aid.  His  burly  captor  was  heading  in 
the  direction  of  a  black-hulled  ocean-steamer 
which  flew  the  bluepeter  at  her  mast-head. 
Even  the  wit  of  a  landsman  could  not  go  wrong 
in  surmising  that  this  domineering  person  was 
her  commander.  And  for  all  his  blustering 
manner,  Captain  Martin  Bradshaw  had  a  trick 
of  pulling  down  one  corner  of  his  mouth  in  a 
half  smile  as  if  he  had  a  genial  heart  and,  given 
time  to  cool  off  and  reflect,  could  perceive  the 
humor  of  a  situation. 

5 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

He  charged  full-tilt  along  the  wharf,  and 
Walter  Goodwin  meekly  followed  with  the  sen- 
sation of  being  yanked  at  the  end  of  a  tow-rope. 
At  the  gangway  a  uniformed  officer  sang  out 
for  a  steward,  who  touched  his  cap  and  took 
charge  of  the  troublesome  piece  of  luggage. 
Walter  hesitated,  but  as  the  skipper  pounded 
along  the  deck  toward  the  bridge  he  called 
back: 

"Make  yourself  at  home  and  look  about  the 
ship,  my  lad.  I'll  see  you  as  soon  as  I  overhaul 
my  papers." 

The  tall  youth  had  no  intention  of  waiting 
to  be  paid  for  his  services,  but  he  lived  in  an  in- 
land town  and  the  deck  of  a  ship  was  a  strange 
and  fascinating  place.  The  Saragassa  was  al- 
most ready  to  sail,  bound  out  to  the  Spanish 
Main.  Many  passengers  were  on  board.  Among 
them  were  several  tanned,  robust  men  who 
looked  as  if  they  were  used  to  hard  work  out- 
of-doors.  As  Goodwin  lingered  to  watch  the 
pleasant  stir  and  bustle,  one  of  these  rugged 
voyagers  was  saying  to  a  friend  who  had  come 
to  bid  him  good-by: 

"It's  sure  the  great  place  for  a  husky  young 
6 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

fellow  with  the  right  stuff  in  him.  There  are 
five  thousand  of  us  Americans  on  the  job,  and 
you  bet  we're  making  the  dirt  fly.  I  was  glad 
to  get  back  to  God's  country  for  my  six  weeks' 
leave,  but  I  won't  be  a  bit  sorry  to  see  the  Big 
Ditch  again." 

The  other  man  replied  with  a  shrug  and  a 
careless  laugh: 

"The  United  States  is  plenty  good  enough 
for  me,  Jack.  I  don't  yearn  to  work  in  any 
pest-hole  of  a  tropical  climate  with  yellow-fever 
and  all  that.  It's  no  place  for  a  white  man." 

"Oh,  you  make  me  tired,"  good-naturedly 
retorted  the  sunburnt  giant  of  a  fellow. 
"You  are  just  plain  ignorant.  Do  I  look  like 
a  fever-stricken  wreck?  High  wages?  Well,  I 
guess.  We  are  picked  men.  I  am  a  steam- 
shovel  man,  as  you  know,  and  Uncle  Sam  pays 
me  two  hundred  gold  a  month  and  gives  me 
living  quarters." 

"You  are  welcome  to  it,  Jack.  It  may  look 
good  to  you,  but  you  will  have  to  dig  the 
Panama  Canal  without  me." 

Walter  Goodwin  had  pricked  up  his  ears. 
The  Panama  Canal  had  seemed  so  remote  that 

7 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

it  might  have  belonged  in  another  world,  but 
here  were  men  who  were  actually  helping  to 
dig  it.  And  this  steam-shovel  man  looked  so 
self-reliant  and  capable  and  proud  of  his  task 
that  he  made  one  feel  proud  of  his  breed  of 
Americans  in  exile.  And  that  was  a  most  al- 
luring phrase  of  his,  "a  great  place  for  a  husky 
young  fellow." 

After  some  hesitation  the  lad  timidly  ac- 
costed him: 

"I  overheard  enough  to  make  me  very  much 
interested  in  what  you  are  doing.  Do  you 
think  I  would  stand  any  show  of  getting  a  job 
on  the  Panama  Canal?" 

The  stranger's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  scanned 
Goodwin  and  amiably  answered: 

"As  a  rule,  they  don't  catch  'em  quite  as 
young  as  you  are,  my  son.  What  makes  you 
think  of  taking  such  a  long  jump  from  home?" 

"I  need  the  money,"  firmly  announced  the 
youth.  "And  when  it  comes  to  size  and  strength 
I'm  not  exactly  a  light-weight." 

"I'll  not  dispute  it,"  cheerily  returned  the 
steam-shovel  man.  "I  am  a  man  of  peace  ex- 
cept when  I'm  hunting  trouble.  But  they 

8 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

don't  hire  Americans  on  the  Isthmus  for  their 
muscle.  The  Colonel — he's  the  big  boss — has 
thirty  thousand  West  Indian  negroes  and 
Spaniards  on  the  pay-rolls  to  sweat  with  the 
picks  and  shovels.  Are  you  really  looking  for 
a  job,  my  boy?  Tell  me  about  it." 

Walter  blushed  and  felt  reluctant  to  tell  his 
troubles  to  a  stranger.  All  he  could  bring  him- 
self to  say  was: 

"Well,  you  see,  I  simply  must  pitch  in  and 
give  my  father  a  lift  somehow." 

"And  you're  not  old  enough  to  vote!"  hear- 
tily exclaimed  the  other.  "There's  many  a 
grown  man  that  thinks  himself  lucky  if  he  can 
buy  his  own  meal-ticket,  much  less  give  his 
father  a  lift." 

"I  don't  mean  to  talk  big — "  began  Walter. 

"It  does  you  credit,  my  son.  I  like  to  see 
a  lad  carry  a  full  head  of  steam.  You  look 
good  to  me.  I  size  you  up  as  our  kind  of  folks. 
Yes,  there  are  various  jobs  down  there  you 
might  get  away  with.  And  the  lowest  wages 
paid  an  American  employee  is  seventy-five  dol- 
lars a  month.  But  remember,  it's  a  long,  wet 
walk  back  from  the  Isthmus  for  a  man  that 
goes  broke." 

9 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Oh,  I  don't  even  know  how  I  could  get 
there.  I  am  just  dreaming  about  it,"  smiled 
Goodwin. 

"If  you  do  ever  drift  down  that  way,  be  sure 
to  look  me  up,  understand — Jack  Devlin,  en- 
gineer of  steam-shovel  ' Twenty-six'  in  Culebra 
Cut,  and  she  broke  all  records  for  excavating 
last  month." 

He  crossed  the  deck  with  a  jaunty  swagger, 
as  if  there  was  no  finer  thing  in  the  world  than 
to  command  a  monster  of  a  steam-shovel  eating 
its  way  into  the  slope  of  Culebra  Cut.  Walter 
Goodwin  concluded  that  he  had  been  forgotten 
by  the  busy  captain  of  the  Saragossa,  but  just 
then  the  steward  came  with  a  summons  to  the 
breezy  quarters  abaft  the  wheel-house  and 
chart-room.  That  august  personage,  Captain 
Martin  Bradshaw,  had  removed  his  coat  and 
collar,  and  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles 
adorned  his  ruddy  beak  of  a  nose.  Running 
his  hands  through  his  mop  of  iron-gray  hair, 
he  swung  round  in  his  chair  and  said,  with  the 
twist  of  the  mouth  that  was  like  an  unfinished 
smile: 

"I  think  I  owe  you  an  apology.  I  failed  to 
take  a  square  look  at  you  until  we  came  aboard. 

10 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

You  are  not  the  kind  of  a  youngster  who  ex- 
pects a  tip  for  doing  a  man  a  good  turn.  I  was 
so  flustered  and  stood  on  my  beam-ends  that 
I  made  a  mistake." 

That  this  seasoned  old  mariner  could  have 
been  in  such  a  helpless  state  of  mind  over  a 
mishap  so  trifling  as  the  emptied  suit-case  made 
Walter  grin  in  spite  of  himself.  At  this  Cap- 
tain Bradshaw  beamed  through  his  spectacles 
and  explained: 

"I  am  afraid  of  my  life  every  minute  I'm 
ashore — what  with  the  infernal  fleets  of  auto- 
mobiles and  trolley-cars  and  wagons,  and  the 
crowds  of  people  in  the  fairway.  A  ship  at  sea 
is  the  only  safe  place  for  a  man,  after  all.  Have 
a  cup  of  tea  or  a  bottle  of  ginger-ale?" 

"No,  thank  you,  sir.  All  I  want  is  some  in- 
formation," boldly  declared  Walter  Goodwin, 
turning  very  red,  but  determined  to  strike  while 
the  iron  was  hot.  "Is  there  any  way,  if  a  fel- 
low can't  afford  to  pay  his  passage,  for  him  to 
get  to  the  Isthmus  of  Panama?" 

"And  for  what?"  was  the  surprised  query. 
"You  look  as  if  you  had  a  good  home  and  a 
mother  to  sew  on  your  buttons.  Have  you 

ii 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

been  reading  sea-stories,  or  are  you  a  young 
muck-raker  in  disguise,  with  orders  to  show  the 
American  people  that  the  Canal  is  being  dug 
all  wrong?" 

"No,  I  am  thinking  of  trying  to  find  a  good 
job  down  there,"  Walter  gravely  declared.  "I 
can't  eat  my  folks  out  of  house  and  home  any 
longer.  The  Isthmus  is  a  great  place  for  a 
husky  young  fellow  with  the  right  stuff  in  him. 
I  got  it  straight  from  a  man  who  knows." 

Captain  Martin  Bradshaw,  who  was  a  shrewd 
judge  of  manhood,  replied  in  singularly  gentle 
tones,  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud: 

"I  did  pretty  much  the  same  thing  when  I 
was  in  my  teens.  And  I  had  the  same  reasons. 
I  suppose  if  you  broke  the  news  to  the  folks 
they  wouldn't  be  exactly  enthusiastic." 

"I  am  afraid  it  would  take  a  lot  of  argument 
to  convince  them  that  I  am  sane  and  sensible," 
dubiously  agreed  Walter.  "My  father  isn't 
used  to  taking  chances,  and — well,  you  know 
what  mothers  are,  sir.  Does  it  sound  crazy  to 
you?" 

"No;  just  a  trifle  rash,"  and  the  wise  skipper 
shook  his  head.  "How  old  are  you?" 

12 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

"Seventeen  and  big  for  my  age." 
"I  thought  you  were  a  year  or  two  older. 
Well,  you  are  as  bold  and  foolish  as  a  strapping 
lad  of  seventeen  ought  to  be,  if  he  has  red  blood 
in  him.  I'll  not  encourage  you  to  run  away 
from  home.  Maybe  you  can  find  a  paying 
berth  on  the  Isthmus,  and  maybe  not.  But 
it  will  do  you  no  harm  to  try.  Talk  it  over  at 
home.  If  the  bee  is  still  in  your  bonnet  a  month 
from  now,  come  to  the  ship  and  I'll  give  you  a 
chance  to  work  your  passage  to  Colon  on  my 
next  voyage."  * 

Walter  stammered  his  thanks,  but  the  cap- 
tain turned  to  rummage  among  the  papers  on 
his  desk,  as  if  he  could  give  no  more  time  to  the 
interview.  As  the  youth  walked  away  from 
the  ship,  his  thoughts  were  buzzing  and  his 
pulse  beat  faster  than  usual.  The  unexpected 
visit  aboard  the  Saragassa  had  thrilled  him  like 
the  song  of  bugles.  It  awakened  a  spirit  of  ad- 
venturous enterprise  which  had  hitherto  been 
dormant.  It  was  calling  him  away  to  the  world's 
frontier.  Jack  Devlin,  the  steam-shovel  man, 
and  the  captain  of  the  Saragossa  had  whirled 
him  out  of  his  accustomed  orbit  with  a  velocity 

13 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

that  made  him  dizzy.  They  were  men  of  ac- 
tion, trained  in  a  rough  school,  and  if  Walter 
wished  to  follow  the  same  road  they  were  ready 
to  lend  him  a  hand. 

He  had  spent  three  days  in  New  York,  seek- 
ing a  situation  at  living  wages.  His  father  had 
given  him  letters  to  several  business  acquaint- 
ances, besides  which  he  had  investigated  such 
advertisements  hi  the  newspapers  as  sounded 
promising.  He  discovered  that  boys  in  their 
teens,  no  matter  how  tall  and  manly  they  might 
be,  were  expected  to  sell  their  brains  and  muscle 
for  so  few  dollars  a  week  that  his  boyish  hopes 
of  supporting  himself  were  clouded.  The  city 
was  overcrowded,  underpaid. 

From  the  ship  he  went  to  the  house  in  which 
he  had  lodged,  and  then  straightway  to  the  rail- 
road station  to  return  to  his  home  town  of 
Wolverton.  His  high-hearted  pilgrimage  to 
New  York  had  been  a  failure  in  one  way,  but 
he  was  braced  and  comforted  by  the  bright 
dream  of  winning  his  fortune  on  the  far-away 
Isthmus.  It  all  sounded  too  good  to  be  true. 

Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin,  the  father  of  this 
young  knight-errant,  was  a  book-keeper  who 

14 


WALTER   GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

had  toiled  at  the  same  desk  for  twenty  years 
in  the  offices  of  the  Wolverton  Mills.  When  a 
trust  gained  control  of  the  plant  it  was  promptly 
closed  and  dismantled  in  order  to  keep  up  prices 
by  cutting  down  production.  This  modern  in- 
stance of  knocking  competition  on  the  head 
was  satisfactory  to  the  stockholders,  but  it 
brought  desolation  to  the  small  city  of  Wolver- 
ton, of  which  the  vast  mills  had  been  the  indus- 
trial blood  and  sinews.  The  operatives  drifted 
elsewhere,  hopeful  of  finding  work,  but  a  middle- 
aged  book-keeper,  grown  gray  and  round- 
shouldered  before  his  time,  is  likely  to  rind  him- 
self stranded  in  a  business  age  which  demands 
hustling  young  men  of  the  brand  known  as 

«T  .  ,, 

live- wires. 

The  Goodwins'  cottage  was  pleasantly  situ- 
ated on  a  slope  overlooking  the  town,  but,  alas, 
the  streets  no  longer  swarmed  with  tired,  noisy 
people  during  the  leisure  hour  after  supper; 
many  of  the  stores  were  untenanted  behind 
their  shuttered  fronts;  and  the  myriad  windows 
of  the  mills  stared  blank  and  dead  instead  of 
twinkling  like  rows  of  jewels  to  greet  the  in- 
dustrious army  of  the  night  shift.  Discourage- 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

ment  was  in  the  very  aspect  of  the  stagnant 
town,  and  it  had  begun  to  grip  the  heart  of 
anxious  Mr.  Goodwin.  For  the  present,  or  until 
he  might  find  something  better,  he  had  taken  a 
small  position  with  a  coal-dealer  in  Wolverton. 

He  had  great  possessions,  however,  which 
were  not  to  be  measured  in  terms  of  hard  cash 
— to  wit,  a  wife  who  thought  him  the  finest, 
bravest  gentleman  in  the  world,  and  a  son  and 
daughter  who  held  the  same  opinion  and  were 
desperately  in  earnest  about  trying  to  mend 
the  family  fortunes.  Walter  was  half-way 
through  his  senior  year  in  high-school  and  was 
chiefly  notable  for  a  rugged  physique,  a  brill- 
iant record  as  a  base-ball  pitcher,  and  an  alarm- 
ing appetite  which  threatened  to  sweep  the 
cupboard  bare.  His  sister  Eleanor,  three  years 
younger,  was  inclined  to  be  absent-minded  and 
wrote  reams  of  what  she  called  poetry,  a  form 
of  industry  which  could  hardly  be  considered 
useful  in  a  tight  financial  pinch. 

It  was  in  the  evening  of  a  winter's  day  when 
Walter  came  homing  back  from  New  York. 
The  other  Goodwins  were  holding  a  family  con- 
ference, and  it  was  like  Eleanor  to  kiss  her 

16 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

father's  bald  head  and  pat  his  cheek  with  such 
a  protecting,  comforting  air  that  her  mother 
found  a  glimmer  of  fond  amusement  in  the 
midst  of  her  worry.  The  affectionate  lass  dwelt 
in  a  world  of  romance  and  her  father  was  a  true 
knight  daily  faring  forth  on  a  quest  hi  which 
she  was  serenely  confident  that  he  would  con- 
quer all  the  dragons  of  misfortune. 

Walter  had  wisely  concluded  that  the  rash 
scheme  of  working  his  way  to  the  Isthmus 
should  be  explained  to  the  family  with  a  good 
deal  of  care  and  tact.  To  break  it  to  them  sud- 
denly would  be  too  much  like  an  explosion. 
When  he  tramped  into  the  sitting-room,  the 
welcome  was  as  ardent  as  if  he  had  been  absent 
for  months  instead  of  days.  Eleanor  and  her 
mother  fluttered  about  him.  Supper  had  been 
kept  warm  for  him.  Was  he  quite  sure  the 
melting  snow  had  not  wet  his  feet? 

His  father  asked,  when  the  excitement  had 
subsided:  "Well,  what  luck,  my  son?" 

Assuming  his  best  bass  voice,  as  man  to  man, 
Walter  answered:  "New  York  is  chuck-full  of 
strong  and  willing  lads  anxious  to  run  their 
legs  off  for  four  or  five  dollars  a  week.  With- 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

out  throwing  any  bouquets  at  myself,  I  think  I 
ought  to  be  worth  more  than  that  to  somebody. 
You  see,  I  couldn't  pay  for  my  board  and  wash- 
ing, much  less  give  the  family  income  a  boost." 

"Did  my  letters  help  you?" 

"Yes,  I  had  an  offer  of  four  per  from  the 
hardware  man.  I  told  him  I  should  have  to 
think  it  over.  Wolverton  is  as  dead  as  a  door- 
nail, but  I  can  do  better  than  that  as  a  day 
laborer." 

"I  hate  to  think  of  your  quitting  school," 
sighed  his  father;  "but  perhaps  you  can  gradu- 
ate next  year."  He  tried  to  hide  his  anxiety 
by  adding  quite  briskly:  "We  have  a  great  deal 
to  be  thankful  for,  and  this — er — this  period  of 
business  depression  is  only  temporary,  I  am 
sure." 

"I  seem  to  be  so  perfectly  useless,"  pen- 
sively murmured  Eleanor.  "  Poetry  doesn't  pay 
at  all  well,  even  if  you  are  a  genius,  and  then 
you  are  supposed  to  starve  to  death  in  a  gar- 
ret." 

Walter  grinned  and  pulled  her  flaxen  braid 
as  a  token  of  his  high  esteem. 

"You  are  mother's  little  bunch  of  sunshine," 
18 


WALTER   GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

said  he,  "and  as  first  assistant  house-keeper 
you  play  an  errorless  game." 

With  what  was  meant  to  be  a  careless  man- 
ner, Walter  turned  to  his  father  and  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  I  heard  of  something 
that  sounded  pretty  good.  It  isn't  in  New 
York " 

"I  certainly  hope  it  is  no  farther  away," 
broke  in  Mrs.  Goodwin.  "I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  your  leaving  home  at  all." 

Walter  coughed  rather  nervously  and  as- 
sured her: 

"Oh,  I  should  take  good  care  of  myself  and 
brush  my  teeth  twice  a  day  and  say  my  prayers 
ditto,  so  you  wouldn't  have  the  slightest  reason 
to  worry  about  me.  And  I'd  write  home  every 
week,  sure." 

"But  couldn't  you  come  home  every  week?" 
asked  Eleanor. 

"Well,  hardly,  sis.  I  have  heard  of  the  great- 
est place  in  the  world  for  a  husky  young  fellow 
with  the  right  stuff  in  him.  Seventy-five  dollars 
a  month,  and  there  are  various  jobs  I  am  capa- 
ble of  filling " 

"Is  this  a  fairy  story?"  and  Mr.  Goodwin 
19 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

gazed  over  his  glasses  with  a  perplexed  ex- 
pression. 

"No,  sir,  and  the  climate  is  healthy  nowa- 
days, and  the  men  on  the  job  look  as  fit  as  can 
be,  and  they  are  just  the  bulliest-looking  lot 
you  ever  saw  and " 

"Oh,  Walter,  tell  us  the  answer.  What  is 
it  all  about?"  implored  Eleanor. 

"I'll  send  you  a  monkey  and  a  string  of 
pearls,  Sis.  Say,  father,  we  Americans  ought 
to  be  proud  of  the  Panama  Canal,  don't  you 
think?" 

"The  Panama  Canal!"  and  Mr.  Horatio 
Goodwin  fairly  jumped  from  his  chair.  "Is 
this  what  you  have  been  leading  up  to?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to  go  there." 

"Dear  me,  why  did  we  let  him  make  the  trip 
to  New  York  alone?  "  lamented  Mrs.  Goodwin. 
"He  wants  to  go  to  the  Panama  Canal!  Why, 
it  is  thousands  of  miles  from  home!" 

Her  agitation  might  have  led  one  to  suppose 
that  Walter  had  announced  his  intention  of 
taking  up  his  residence  in  the  moon.  But  Mr. 
Goodwin  was  regarding  the  ruddy,  eager  face 
of  his  son  with  a  certain  wistfulness.  Walter 

20 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

was  undismayed,  unscarred  by  the  rough  world. 
Ah,  youth  might  win  where  plodding  middle 
age  had  failed.  The  opportunities  were  for 
those  who  were  not  old  enough  to  be  afraid. 

"Tell  me  about  it,  Walt,"  said  he,  and  his 
voice  was  kindly  and  interested. 

With  bright  eyes  and  animated  gestures 
Walter  told  them  of  his  acquaintance  with  Jack 
Devlin  and  the  master  of  the  Saragossa,  and 
how  the  Panama  Canal  had  been  made  to  seem 
so  near  and  real.  Eleanor  promptly  soared  on 
rosy  wings  of  fancy  and  breathlessly  inter- 
rupted: 

"It  is  of  such  stuff  that  heroes  are  made!  I 
shall  never  call  life  humdrum  again.  Gracious, 
to  think  of  my  big  brother  actually  sailing  away 
to  help  build  the  Panama  Canal!  I  have  a 
great  deal  of  confidence  in  you,  Walt,  and  I'm 
sure  you  will  succeed,  though  you  are  inclined 
to  be  careless  and  you  never  would  keep  your 
bureau  drawers  in  order.  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  write  a  poem,  '  Lines  to  a  Wandering  Broth- 
er.' It  must  not  be  mournful,  must  it?  I  will 
cling  to  the  lofty  idea  that  you  have  gone  to 
serve  your  country  in  peace  instead  of  war." 

21 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"That  will  do  for  you,"  was  Walter's  laugh- 
ing comment.  "Please  let  mother  and  father 
have  the  floor." 

"It  sounds  fantastic,  but — "  doubtfully 
began  Mr.  Goodwin. 

"But  it  is  utterly  out  of  the  question,"  his 
wife  emphatically  concluded.  "  Why,  this  work- 
ing his  way  in  a  ship  sounds  dreadfully  rough 
and  dangerous.  The  captain  may  intend  to 
kidnap  him.  What  is  it  they  do  to  sailors, 
Horatio?  Something  horrid  and  Chinese — 
shanghai  or  hong-kong  them,  or  whatever  it 
is." 

Not  in  the  least  perturbed  by  this  harrowing 
suggestion,  Eleanor  excitedly  announced: 

"I  have  seven  dollars  of  my  own  saved  up, 
Walt.  I  was  planning  to  take  a  correspondence 
course  in  the  art  of  writing  perfectly  good 
poetry,  but  I'd  rather  invest  it  in  you.  We 
women  must  arm  our  heroes  for  the  fray." 

"I  am  afraid  I  could  not  give  you  the  funds 
you  would  need,"  soberly  observed  Mr.  Good- 
win. "You  must  not  find  yourself  adrift  in  a 
strange  land." 

Walter  walked  across  the  room,  a  fine,  ath- 
22 


WALTER  GOODWIN'S  QUEST 

letic  figure,  almost  a  six-footer.  He  felt  sure 
that  he  could  fight  his  way  on  the  wonderful 
Isthmus,  where  there  were  quick  promotion  and 
high  wages  and  a  square  deal  for  every  man. 

"If  I  can  work  my  passage  down  there,  I  can 
work  it  home  again,"  he  cried.  "But  I'm  not 
worrying  about  that." 

"Wolverton  is  no  place  for  you,"  declared 
his  father.  "Mother  and  I  will  talk  it  over, 
Walter,  and  I  shall  find  out  what  I  can.  You 
have  made  us  feel  rather  dizzy.  We  can't  real- 
ize that  you  are  no  longer  a  little  boy." 

"My  Salem  great-grandfather  went  to  sea 
when  he  was  fourteen  and  was  mate  of  an  East- 
Indiaman  at  my  age,  and  captain  of  her  at 
twenty-one,"  stoutly  quoth  Walter. 

"And  be  sure  to  write  just  how  the  Southern 
Cross  looks  to  you,"  earnestly  put  in  Eleanor. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

THE  steamer  Saragossa  was  sliding  across  a 
tropic  sea  where  the  trade-wind  blew  cool  and 
steady  to  temper  the  blazing  sun,  the  flying-fish 
skittered  from  the  lazy  swells  like  flights  of 
silver  arrows,  and  the  stars  by  night  seemed 
very  bright  and  near.  On  the  shady  side  of  the 
promenade  deck  a  boyish-looking  member  of 
the  crew  was  scrubbing  rust  spots  from  the 
planking  with  a  certain  gusto  which  distin- 
guished him  from  the  so-called  seamen,  who 
were  a  sorry  lot.  The  rough  company  and  bul- 
lying usages  of  the  forecastle  had  not  dismayed 
Walter  Goodwin,  who  forgot  discomfort  in  the 
thought  that,  day  by  day,  he  was  nearing  the 
magical  Isthmus.  His  parents'  consent  had 
been  won  and  this  was  his  great  chance. 

By  far  the  most  interesting  passenger  was 
the  soldierly  gentleman  with  the  close-cropped 
white  hair,  the  quiet  voice,  and  pleasant  smile 

24 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

who  walked  the  deck  with  the  vigor  of  youth. 
This  was  actually  Colonel  Gunther  himself, 
chief  engineer  of  the  Canal,  chairman  of  the 
Isthmian  Commission,  master  of  forty  thousand 
workers,  the  man  who  had  made  a  success  of 
the  gigantic  task  after  others  had  failed. 

"  We  folks  think  he  is  the  biggest  man  in  the 
world,"  a  quarter-master's  clerk  told  Walter. 
"He  just  holds  the  whole  job  together.  You 
can  feel  him  from  one  end  of  the  Zone  to  the 
other.  Whenever  he  goes  to  the  States,  it  seems 
as  if  the  organization  began  to  wobble  a  mite." 

"But  he  is  as  courteous  and  kind  to  every- 
body on  board  as  if  he  didn't  amount  to 
shucks,"  was  Walter's  comment.  "Why,  he 
even  says  'Good-morning'  to  me!" 

It  happened  on  this  day  that  Colonel  Gun- 
ther halted  near  the  industrious  Walter  and  his 
scrubbing-brush.  Several  children  tagged  after 
him,  and  he  was  telling  them  a  most  fascinat- 
ing story  about  a  giant  so  enormous  that  he 
could  dig  a  Panama  Canal  with  a  poke  of  his 
finger  and  then  drink  it  dry  at  one  gulp.  Pres- 
ently the  audience  scampered  off  to  view  a 
distant  ship,  and  Colonel  Gunther  conversed 

25 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

with  one  of  his  staff.  They  discussed  problems 
of  their  work,  and  Walter  was  guilty  of  daw- 
dling, but,  alas,  what  he  overheard  came  as  a 
shock  that  filled  him  with  uneasy  forebodings. 

"The  organization  has  been  at  last  recruited 
to  its  full  working  strength,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"It  begins  to  look  as  if  the  hardest  part  of  the 
job  had  been  accomplished — to  get  enough  good 
men  and  keep  them." 

"I  presume  the  news  will  be  published  in  the 
States,"  observed  the  other.  "It  would  be  a 
pity  to  have  any  more  Americans  coming  down 
on  the  chance  of  finding  places." 

"Yes,  notification  was  to  be  sent  out  from 
Washington  this  week.  There  are  plenty  of 
tropical  tramps  and  beach-combers  in  Colon 
and  Panama  without  adding  to  the  number." 

With  a  most  melancholy  demeanor,  Walter 
Goodwin,  ordinary  seaman,  went  forward  as 
eight  bells  struck  the  dinner-hour.  His  excel- 
lent appetite  had  vanished.  The  opportunity 
for  a  "husky  young  fellow"  seemed  to  have  been 
knocked  into  a  cocked  hat.  Because  he  was 
such  a  very  young  man,  his  emotions  were  apt 
to  veer  from  one  extreme  to  the  other.  He  was 

26 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

ready  to  believe  the  worst,  nor  did  he  dream  of 
accosting  Colonel  Gunther  and  pleading  his 
own  special  case.  A  fellow  couldn't  help  stand- 
ing in  awe  of  one  whom  the  whole  Isthmus 
regarded  as  "the  biggest  man  in  the  world." 
The  enchanted  land  of  Panama  had  suddenly 
become  unfriendly  and  forbidding.  He  feared 
that  he  was  about  to  become  that  dismal  dere- 
lict, a  "tropical  tramp." 

"This  is  the  toughest  kind  of  luck,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "They  are  actually  warning  Amer- 
icans away  from  the  place." 

Captain  Bradshaw,  strolling  through  the  ship 
on  a  tour  of  inspection,  noticed  the  gloomy 
young  seaman  and  kindly  inquired: 

"Lost  anything?  You  can't  be  sea-sick  in 
weather  like  this." 

"I  have  lost  my  job,"  mournfully  answered 
Walter. 

"Lost  it  before  you  found  it,  eh?  What  kind 
of  a  riddle  is  that?" 

Walter  briefly  and  bitterly  explained,  at 
which  Captain  Bradshaw  was  moved  to  suggest: 

"If  I  could  shove  Colonel  Gunther  over- 
board, accidentally  on  purpose,  and  you  hopped 

27 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

after  him  and  saved  him  from  a  watery  grave, 
what?  He  would  simply  have  to  offer  you  a 
good  position." 

"But  I  can't  swim  well  enough.  You  will 
have  to  think  of  something  else." 

"Well,  you  can  stay  in  the  ship,  and  I  will 
try  to  make  an  able  seaman  of  you." 

With  a  flash  of  his  former  determination 
Walter  flung  back:  "Thank  you,  sir,  but  if  I 
don't  go  ashore  and  try  my  luck,  I  shall  feel 
like  a  yellow  pup,  whipped  before  I  start." 

At  the  boyish  bravado  of  this  speech  Captain 
Bradshaw  replied,  with  an  air  of  fatherly  pride: 

"I  should  think  less  of  you  if  you  decided  to 
stick  in  the  ship,  my  lad.  But  if  you  find  your- 
self flying  distress  signals,  you  are  welcome  to 
work  your  passage  home  with  me." 

Walter  nodded  and  swallowed  hard.  He  saw 
that  if  he  whimpered  or  hung  back  he  would 
lose  the  respect  of  this  indomitable  old  sea-dog. 
Homesickness  afflicted  him  for  the  first  time, 
and  now  and  then  he  regretted  having  met  the 
persuasive  Jack  Devlin. 

Perhaps  because  he  was  unhappy  himself 
Walter  felt  sympathy  for  the  young  man  from 
.28 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

the  republic  of  Colombia  whose  name  was  on 
the  passenger  list  as  Senor  Fernandez  Garcia 
Alfaro.  He  had  often  lingered  near  the  fore- 
castle, as  if  disliking  the  company  of  his  fellow- 
voyagers,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  chatting  with 
Walter,  who  found  him  rather  puzzling.  The 
South-American  temperament  was  new  to  the 
sturdy  young  Anglo-Saxon  from  Wolverton, 
who  had  been  trained  to  hide  his  feelings. 

Senor  Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro  wore  his  emo- 
tions on  his  sleeve.  He  was  easily  excited  and 
his  outbursts  of  temper  seemed  childish,  al- 
though he  had  been  to  school  and  college  in  the 
United  States  and  was  now  in  the  diplomatic 
service  of  Colombia,  attached  to  the  legation 
at  Washington.  To  Walter  he  seemed  much 
younger  than  his  years.  He  had  found  much  to 
annoy  him  during  the  voyage  of  the  Saragossa, 
but  Walter  refused  to  take  his  troubles  seriously 
until  matters  suddenly  came  to  a  head. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning,  and  Walter  had 
finished  his  share  of  washing  down  decks  under 
the  critical  eye  of  the  Norwegian  boatswain. 
Alfaro  came  out  of  his  state-room  and  paced 
the  wide  promenade.  His  demeanor  was  cheer- 

29 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

ful  and  he  appeared  to  have  forgotten  his  irrita- 
tion. 

As  he  halted  to  greet  Walter,  there  came  from 
an  open  window  near  by  the  harsh,  screaming 
accents  of  a  parrot  which  cried  jeeringly: 

"  Viva  Roosevelt!  Viva  Panama  !  Poire  Co- 
lombia!  Pobre  Colombia !  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!" 

Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro  spun  round  to  glare 
at  the  disreputable  bunch  of  green  feathers 
which,  from  its  gilded  cage,  continued  to  cackle 
its  sentiments  concerning  "Poor  Colombia" 
with  diabolical  energy.  The  young  man's  black 
eyes  flashed  astonishing  wrath  and  hatred,  and 
Walter  Goodwin,  watching  the  tableau  with  a 
perplexed  air,  said  laughingly: 

"Anything  personal  in  the  parrot's  remarks?  " 

Alfaro  shook  both  fists  at  the  offending  bird 
and  passionately  answered  in  his  fluent  English: 

"It  is  an  insult  to  me  and  my  country.  It 
is  meant  to  be  the  worst  kind  of  an  insult.  I 
will  kill  the  cursed  parrot  before  I  leave  this 
ship.  I  am  a  Colombian,  as  you  know.  My 
father  is  a  minister  of  the  government.  Panama 
was  stolen  from  my  country  to  be  made  into  a 
republic.  It  was  a  revolution?  Bah!  Non- 
30 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

sense!  The  soldiers  of  Colombia  could  have 
stopped  that  little  revolution,  quick.  It  was 
your  Teddy  Roosevelt,  it  was  your  Uncle  Sam 
with  the  Big  Stick  that  prevented  us.  Colombia 
weeps,  she  is  disgraced,  when  she  thinks  of 
Panama." 

"But  you  ought  not  to  be  sore  on  the  silly 
parrot,"  sagely  replied  Walter,  trying  to  fathom 
what  appeared  to  him  as  an  absurd  situation. 
"I  never  happened  to  read  much  about  Colom- 
bia's side  of  the  story,  but  the  Panama  Canal 
had  to  be  built,  you  know,  and  I  guess  your 
country  was  like  the  grasshopper  that  sat  on 
the  railroad  track." 

"Grasshopper!"  and  Alfaro  was  in  more 
violent  eruption  than  ever  as  he  strode  hastily 
aft  to  get  away  from  the  parrot.  "You  do  not 
understand,  Goodwin.  You  Yankees  can  never, 
never  understand.  That  parrot  belongs  to  a 
Panamanian — to  General  Quesada,  the  big,  yel- 
low, fat  man  whom  you  have  seen  on  deck.  He 
made  himself  prominent  in  the  revolution  against 
Colombia,  but  he  is  no  good.  He  is  a  tin  sol- 
dier. He  had  taught  his  parrot  to  insult  my 
country,  to  have  fun  with  my  honor.  He  has 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

laughed  at  me  all  the  voyage.  He  had  made  the 
others  laugh  at  me.  It  is  dangerous  to  make  me 
so  mad." 

Walter  began  to  comprehend.  He  had  hear- 
tily disliked  General  Quesada  on  sight,  and  he 
had  heard  something  of  the  coarse  teasing  to 
which  Alfaro  had  been  subjected. 

"I  suppose  that  is  why  you  have  flocked  by 
yourself,"  he  replied.  "But  you  ought  not  to 
be  so  touchy." 

At  this  moment  General  Quesada  himself 
came  waddling  on  deck,  parrot-cage  in  hand, 
evidently  intending  to  give  his  accomplished 
pet  an  early  morning  airing.  He  was  a  gross, 
ungainly  man,  heavy  of  countenance.  At  sight 
of  the  indignant  Alfaro  he  shook  with  laughter 
and  prodded  the  bird  with  his  finger,  which 
prompted  it  to  screech: 

"  Viva  Panama  I  Pobre  Colombia  !  Ha!  Ha! 
Ear 

The  young  man  whom  he  had  enjoyed 
taunting  as  a  diversion  of  the  voyage  retorted 
with  fiery  Spanish  abuse,  which  made  the  Pan- 
amanian scowl  as  if  he  had  been  stung  by  some- 
thing sharp  enough  to  penetrate  his  thick  hide. 

32 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

He  uttered  a  volley  of  guttural  maledictions  in 
his  turn,  and  was  echoed  by  the  blackguardly 
parrot.  For  Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro  this  was 
the  last  straw.  His  inflammable  temper  was 
ablaze.  He  rushed  at  the  corpulent  general  and 
let  his  fists  fly  against  the  full  moon  of  a  coun- 
tenance. 

Before  Walter  Goodwin  could  interfere,  the 
Panamanian  had  found  room  to  jerk  a  small 
automatic  revolver  from  a  pocket  of  his  trousers. 
Alfaro  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  weapon  and  tried 
to  grip  the  arm  that  flourished  it.  The  decks 
were  otherwise  deserted  at  this  early  hour  and 
duty  called  Walter  to  attempt  the  role  of  peace- 
maker. This  was  a  difficult  undertaking,  for 
Alfaro,  active  as  an  angry  jaguar,  persisted  in 
fighting  at  close  range  with  hands  and  feet, 
while  the  bulky  Panamanian  twisted  and 
wrenched  him  this  way  and  that,  and  vainly 
tried  to  use  his  weapon. 

There  was  no  pulling  them  apart,  and  the 
swaying  revolver  was  a  menace  which  made 
Walter  dive  for  a  deck-broom  left  against  the 
rail.  The  heavy  handle  was  of  hickory.  Swing- 
ing it  with  all  his  might,  Walter  brought  it 
down  with  a  terrific  thump  across  the  knuckles 
33 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

of  General  Quesada,  who  instantly  dropped  the 
revolver.  Walter's  blood  was  up  and  he  in- 
tended to  deal  thoroughly  with  this  would-be 
murderer.  Whacking  him  with  the  broom- 
handle,  he  drove  him,  bellowing,  toward  the 
nearest  saloon  entrance,  while  Alfaro  danced 
behind  them,  shouting  approval. 

By  now  the  first  mate  came  charging  down 
from  the  bridge.  Captain  Bradshaw  arrived  a 
moment  later,  clad  in  sky-blue  pajamas,  his 
bare  feet  pattering  along  the  deck.  He  picked 
up  the  revolver,  eyed  Walter  and  the  broom- 
handle  with  a  comical  air  of  surprise,  and  in- 
quired: 

"Who  started  this  circus?  Is  it  a  revolution? 
I  shall  have  to  put  a  few  of  you  fire-eaters  in 
irons." 

The  parrot  had  rolled  into  the  scuppers,  cage 
and  all,  and  its  nerves  were  so  shaken  that  it 
twisted  its  favorite  oration  wrong  end  to,  and 
dolefully  and  quite  appropriately  chanted  at 
intervals : 

"  Viva  Colombia  !    Poire  Panama  I " 

Captain  Bradshaw  aimed  an  accusing  finger 
at  the  bird  and  exclaimed: 

"Shut  up!    You  talk  too  much." 
34 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

"That  was  the  whole  trouble,  sir,"  said  Wal- 
ter, wondering  whether  he  was  to  be  punished 
or  commended.  "General  Quesada  brought 
this — this  broom-handle  on  himself.  He  was 
trying  to  shoot  Sefior  Alfaro." 

"I  need  no  diagrams  to  tell  me  that  Sefior 
Alfaro  sailed  into  him  first,"  said  the  captain. 
"  This  had  been  brewing  for  some  time.  I  shall 
have  to  investigate  after  breakfast." 

A  little  later  Walter  discovered  Fernandez 
Garcia  Alfaro  seated  upon  a  hatch-cover  for- 
ward. At  sight  of  his  Anglo-Saxon  ally  the 
impulsive  Colombian  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
cried,  with  outstretched  hands: 

"You  have  saved  my  life!  I  shall  never  for- 
get it,  mi  amigo.  I  have  hated  the  North  Amer- 
icans, but  my  heart  is  full  of  affection  for  you." 

Rather  taken  aback  by  this  tribute,  Walter 
said  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner: 

"You  surely  piled  into  that  fat  general  like  a 
West  India  hurricane.  I'm  glad  I  spoiled  his 
programme." 

Alfaro's  expressive  face  was  vindictive  as  he 
exclaimed:  "I  have  not  finished  with  him  and 
his  infernal  parrot!" 

35 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Pooh,  forget  him,"  carelessly  advised  Wal- 
ter, to  whom  this  threat  of  vengeance  sounded 
theatrical.  "Better  steer  clear  of  this  Quesada 
person.  He  looks  to  me  like  an  ugly  customer." 

Alfaro  smiled  rather  sheepishly  as  he  re- 
marked: 

"It  was  not  very  diplomatic?  You  must 
think  I  am  a  funny  diplomat,  Goodwin." 

"Well,  I  never  happened  to  meet  one  before," 
confessed  Walter,  returning  the  smile,  "and  I 
had  an  idea  that  diplomats  were  not  quite  so 
violent  and  sudden  in  their  methods." 

"It  was  that  beastly  parrot,"  began  Alfaro 
in  a  quick  gust  of  anger;  but  he  checked  him- 
self with  a  shrug  and  asked  a  question  which 
led  Walter  to  reply: 

"Oh,  no,  I  am  not  a  real  sailor.  I  am  going 
to  the  Isthmus  to  work  in  the  Canal  Zone." 

Boyish  pride  made  him  reluctant  to  confess 
how  dubious  he  was  of  finding  work.  Alfaro 
was  so  full  of  affectionate  admiration  that  he 
was  ready  to  believe  great  things  of  Walter, 
and  he  exclaimed: 

"I  am  sure  you  will  have  a  fine  position.  I 
knew  you  were  not  a  common  sailor.  You  are 

36 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

working  your  passage  as  a  lark?  I  have  been 
wishing  landslides  and  yellow-fever  and  all 
kinds  of  bad  luck  to  the  Yankees  so  they  could 
never  finish  the  canal.  But  now,  for  your  sake, 
my  feelings  are  different." 

Walter  had  begun  to  be  fond  of  the  fiery 
Colombian  who  was  so  quick  to  express  his 
likes  and  dislikes. 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied.  "I  hope  we  shall 
run  across  each  other  on  shore." 

"I  must  wait  a  week  for  my  steamer  from 
Panama  down  the  west  coast,"  said  Alfaro. 
"  I  am  going  home  on  leave  of  absence  from  the 
legation  to  see  my  father  and  mother.  I  will 
say  nothing  about  the  row  with  General  Que- 
sada.  My  father  would  not  think  it  diplomatic. 
I  will  find  you  at  your  office  in  the  Zone? " 

"I  certainly  hope  so,"  gravely  answered  Wal- 
ter, but  for  reasons  known  to  himself  he  failed 
to  mention  his  address. 

The  interview  was  cut  short  by  a  summons 
from  Captain  Bradshaw,  who  wished  to  see 
Goodwin  at  once.  He  climbed  to  the  bridge- 
deck  and  entered  the  captain's  room,  cap  in 
hand. 

37 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Don't  look  so  scared,  young  man.  I'm  not 
going  to  eat  you  alive,"  was  the  good-humored 
reassurance.  "General  Quesada  came  boiling 
up  here  just  now  and  demanded  that  I  lock  you 
up  and  turn  you  over  to  the  Panamanian  police 
when  we  dock  at  Colon.  Of  course  I  told  him 
that  the  deck  of  this  ship  is  American  territory 
and  he  was  talking  foolishness." 

"But  he  is  the  man  who  ought  to  be  locked 
up,"  protested  Walter.  "What  about  his  try- 
ing to  shoot  Senor  Alfaro?" 

"I  said  as  much,  but  he  didn't  listen.  He 
swore  he  pulled  the  revolver  merely  to  frighten 
the  Colombian.  And  then  he  says  you  whanged 
daylight  out  of  him  with  a  club.  I  had  to  talk 
Spanish  with  him  and  I  missed  some  of  his  red- 
hot  language." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  whanged  him  good  and  plenty," 
declared  Walter,  "and  he  yelled  and  ran  for 
all  he  was  worth." 

"The  ship's  doctor  had  to  bandage  his  knuc- 
kles," resumed  Captain  Bradshaw  with  a 
chuckle,  "and  there  is  a  welt  on  his  jaw,  and  he 
is  marked  in  various  other  places.  What  hurts 
him  worst  is  that  a  common  sailor,  and  a  boy 

38 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

at  that,  chased  him  from  the  deck  with  a  broom- 
stick and  battered  him  all  up.  This  Quesada 
poses  as  a  military  hero  in  Panama,  you  under- 
stand, and  plays  a  strong  hand  in  the  politics 
of  that  funny  little  republic." 

"Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  hit  him  so 
hard,"  and  Walter  looked  solemn. 

"You  were  a  bit  overzealous,  but  he  de- 
served a  drubbing.  I  just  want  to  give  you  a 
bit  of  friendly  advice.  Don't  let  this  General 
Quesada  catch  you  up  a  dark  alley.  His  vanity 
is  mortally  wounded,  and  he  carries  a  deck-load 
of  it.  A  Spanish-American  might  as  well  be 
dead  as  ridiculous.  And  it  makes  Quesada 
squirm  to  think  how  he  will  be  laughed  at  if 
this  story  gets  afloat  in  Panama.  He  doesn't 
love  you,  Goodwin." 

"But  the  Canal  Zone  is  part  of  the  United 
States.  He  can't  do  anything  to  me,"  said 
Walter. 

"Not  in  the  Zone,  but  it  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  drift  across  the  line  into  Colon 
or  Panama  before  you  know  it.  And  the 
Spiggoty  police,  as  they  call  'em,  like  nothing 
better  than  an  excuse  to  put  a  Yankee  in  jail." 

Elated  that  Captain  Bradshaw's  attitude 
39 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

should  be  so  friendly,  and  flattering  himself  that 
with  so  humble  a  weapon  as  a  broomstick  he 
had  vanquished  a  real  live  general,  Walter  was 
inclined  to  make  light  of  the  warning.  In  fact, 
he  forgot  all  about  the  humiliated  warrior  a  day 
or  so  later  when  far  ahead  of  the  Saragossa  a 
broken  line  of  hills  lifted  blue  and  misty.  Yonder 
was  the  Isthmus  which  Balboa  had  crossed  to 
gaze  upon  the  unknown  Pacific,  where  Drake 
and  Morgan  had  raided  and  plundered  the 
Spanish  treasure  towns,  and  where  in  a  later 
century  thousands  of  brave  Frenchmen  had 
perished  in  their  futile  tragedy  of  an  attempt  to 
dig  a  canal  between  the  two  oceans. 

Soon  the  low-roofed  city  of  Colon  was  re- 
vealed behind  the  flashing  surf,  the  white  ribbon 
of  beach,  and  the  clusters  of  tall  palms.  From 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  bay  stretched  the  im- 
mensely long  arm  of  the  new  breakwater,  on 
top  of  which  crawled  toy-like  engines  and  work- 
trains.  What  looked  like  a  spacious,  sluggish 
river  extended  straight  inland  toward  the  dis- 
tant ramparts  of  the  hills.  On  its  surface  were 
noisy  dredges,  deep-laden  steamers,  and  tow- 
boats  dragging  seaward  strings  of  barges  heaped 
high  with  rock  and  dirt.  This  was  part  of  the 

40 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

Panama  Canal  itself,  the  finished  section  lead- 
ing from  the  Atlantic,  and  where  the  hills  began 
to  rise  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  indicated  the 
activities  of  steam-shovels,  locomotives,  and 
construction  plants. 

Walter  Goodwin,  no  longer  brooding  over  his 
fear  of  becoming  a  "tropical  tramp,"  was  im- 
patient to  see  the  wonderful  spectacle  at  close 
range.  After  the  steamer  had  been  moored  at 
one  end  of  the  government  docks  of  Cristobal, 
he  was  assigned  to  duty  at  the  gangway  while 
the  passengers  filed  ashore.  Conspicuous  among 
them  was  General  Quesada,  his  right  hand 
bandaged,  his  surly  face  partly  eclipsed  by 
strips  of  plaster,  his  gait  that  of  one  who  was 
stiff  and  sore. 

He  balked  at  sight  of  the  steep  runway  from 
the  deck  to  the  wharf,  and  Walter  offered  him 
a  helping  hand.  The  general  angrily  waved  him 
aside  and  muttered  something  in  Spanish  which 
sounded  venomously  hostile.  Fernandez  Garcia 
Alfaro,  who  was  within  ear-shot,  explained  to 
Walter: 

"  He  says  he  will  find  you  again,  and  he  swears 
it  in  very  bad  language." 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Pooh!  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  fat  rascal," 
carelessly  returned  Walter.  "I  guess  Uncle 
Sam  is  strong  enough  to  look  after  me." 

Before  noon  he  found  himself  in  the  mod- 
ern American  settlement  of  Cristobal,  among 
clean,  paved  streets  whose  palm-shaded  houses, 
with  wide,  screened  porches,  were  of  uniform 
color  and  design.  Boys  and  girls  were  coming 
home  from  school,  as  happy  and  noisy  as  Walter 
was  used  to  meeting  them  in  Wolverton.  As 
he  wisely  observed  to  himself,  this  agreeable 
place  was  where  the  Americans  lived,  not  where 
they  worked,  and  a  fellow  had  to  find  work 
before  he  could  live  anywhere.  He  was  among 
his  own  countrymen,  but  where  was  there  any 
place  for  him?  He  felt  friendless  and  forlorn. 

Strolling  at  random,  he  was  unaware  that  he 
had  crossed  the  boundary  line  into  the  Panama- 
nian city  of  Colon  until  the  streets  became  a 
wonderfully  picturesque  jumble  of  Spanish- 
speaking  natives  clad  in  white  duck  and  linen, 
chattering  West  India  negroes,  idling  Americans 
in  khaki,  and  sailors  from  every  clime. 

Passing  the  city  market,  he  thriftily  bought 
his  supper — bananas,  mangoes,  and  peppery 
42 


THE  PARROT  AND  THE  BROOMSTICK 

tamales — at  cost  of  a  few  cents,  and  pursued  his 
entertaining  tour  of  sight-seeing.  It  was  all 
strange  and  fascinating  and  romantic  to  his  un- 
tutored eyes.  His  wanderings  were  cut  short 
at  sight  of  General  Quesada,  who  was  seated  at 
a  table  in  front  of  a  cafe  with  several  friends. 
Two  of  these  were  in  uniform  adorned  with  gold 
lace  and  buttons. 

Walter  wasted  no  time  in  wondering  whether 
these  were  officers  of  the  army  or  the  police. 
The  battered  general  was  pointing  him  out  to 
them  with  a  gesture  of  his  bandaged  hand.  The 
officers  stared  as  if  to  be  sure  they  would  know 
him  again.  Hastily  deciding  that  the  climate  of 
Cristobal  might  be  healthier,  Walter  retreated 
toward  the  Canal  Zone  and  the  shelter  of  the 
stars  and  stripes.  As  he  glanced  over  his 
shoulder,  the  three  men  at  the  cafe  table  ap- 
peared to  be  discussing  him  with  a  lively  inter- 
est which  made  him  feel  uneasier  than  ever. 
Perhaps  the  warning  of  Captain  Bradshaw  had 
not  been  all  moonshine.  It  looked  as  if  Gen- 
eral Quesada  were  still  thinking  about  that 
terrible  broom-handle  which  had  bruised  his 
pompous  pride  as  severely  as  his  knuckles. 

43 


CHAPTER  III 

WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

WHAT  he  had  heard  Colonel  Gunther  say  on 
shipboard  made  Walter  think  it  useless  to  ap- 
ply for  one  of  those  wonderful  positions  at 
seventy-five  dollars  a  month  on  the  "gold  roll," 
which  the  steam-shovel  man,  Jack  Devlin,  had 
painted  in  such  glowing  colors.  He  must  try 
to  get  a  foothold  somewhere,  no  matter  how 
humble  it  might  be,  and  hope  to  win  promotion. 
It  was  really  a  case  of  jumping  at  the  first 
chance  to  earn  a  dollar.  Without  employment 
what  money  he  had  would  soon  be  spent,  and 
then  he  must  slink  home  in  the  Saragassa. 

He  picked  his  way  through  a  net-work  of 
tracks,  switches,  and  sidings  among  the  busy 
wharves  and  warehouses  of  Cristobal.  This 
was  the  nearest  scene  of  activity,  although  it 
seemed  to  have  very  little  to  do  with  digging 
the  Panama  Canal.  There  were  railroad  yards 
at  home,  reflected  Walter,  and  he  had  seen 
44 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

miles  of  warehouses  and  wharves  along  the 
water-front  of  New  York.  He  walked  rather 
aimlessly  beyond  the  crowded  part  of  Cristobal, 
hoping  to  find  steam-shovels  and  construction 
gangs. 

At  length  his  progress  was  blocked  by  the 
wreckage  of  several  freight-cars  which  were 
strewn  across  the  tracks  in  shattered  fragments. 
Negro  laborers  were  clearing  away  this  amazing 
disorder,  which  could  have  been  caused  by  no 
ordinary  collision.  In  answer  to  Walter's  ques- 
tions one  of  them  said: 

"Dynamite,  boss.  A  car  got  afire  down  by 
de  ship,  sah,  an'  de  mens  tuk  all  de  dynamite 
out  'cept  two  boxes.  An'  when  dey  was  runnin' 
de  car  up  here  in  de  yard  to  fotch  it  away  from 
de  wharf,  she  done  'splode  herself  to  glory." 

"Anybody  killed?" 

"Two  mens,  sah,  an'  some  more  is  in  de 
hospitubble." 

"Too  bad,  but  there  is  something  doing 
here,"  said  Walter  to  himself.  "This  is  a 
hurry-up  job,  and  perhaps  they  can  use  another 
man." 

Climbing  over  the  debris,  he  accosted  a  lean, 
45 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

brick-red  American  with  a  fighting  jaw  who 
was  driving  the  wrecking-crews  at  top  speed. 

"I  am  not  the  superintendent,"  was  the  im- 
patient reply,  "but  I'll  save  you  the  trouble  of 
looking  him  up.  He  is  taking  no  more  men  on 
the  gold  roll.  The  railroad  has  been  laying  peo- 
ple off." 

"But  I  am  not  looking  for  a  job  on  the  gold 
roll,"  stubbornly  returned  Walter.  "I  am 
ready  to  pitch  in  with  your  laborers.  Can't 
you  take  me  on  to  help  clear  this  mess?" 

"For  twenty  cents  an  hour?  You're  joking," 
snapped  the  foreman.  "White  men  don't  do 
this  kind  of  work  down  here." 

Walter  was  for  continuing  the  argument,  but 
the  other  jumped  to  adjust  the  chains  of  a 
wrecking-crane.  Just  then  there  appeared  a 
man  of  such  a  calm,  unhurried  manner  that  he 
seemed  oddly  out  of  place  in  this  noisy,  perspir- 
ing throng.  As  Walter  brushed  past  him  the 
placid  stranger  drawled: 

"These  tracks  will  be  cleared  by  night.    The 
job  won't  last  long  enough  for  you  to  make  a 
start  at  it.    Are  you  really  looking  for  hard 
work  at  silver  wages?" 
46 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

"Please  lead  me  to  it,"  gratefully  cried  Wal- 
ter. "I  guess  I  can  live  on  twenty  cents  an 
hour  until  something  better  turns  up." 

"Good  for  you,"  said  the  unruffled  gentle- 
man. "I  am  Mr.  Naughton,  in  charge  of  the 
dynamite.  We  use  eight  hundred  thousand 
pounds  a  month  on  the  canal.  I  have  a  ship 
to  unload,  and  the  negroes  have  been  panicky 
since  the  explosion  this  morning.  Several  of 
them  quit  me,  and  I  guess  they  are  running 
yet." 

Walter  shied  like  a  frightened  colt,  and 
stammered  with  sudden  loss  of  enthusiasm: 

"A  whole  s-ship-load  of  d-dynamite?  You 
w-want  me  to  help  handle  it?"  Then  he 
grinned  as  his  sense  of  humor  overtook  his 
fright.  He  had  just  fled  from  Colon  at  sight  of 
General  Quesada  and  his  friends.  This  was 
hopping  from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire  with 
a  vengeance. 

"What  if  I  drop  a  box  of  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  not  hiring  you  to  drop  it,"  was  the 
pensive  answer  of  Mr.  Naughton,  as  he  flicked 
a  bit  of  soot  from  his  white  serge  coat  and 
caressed  his  neatly  trimmed  brown  beard.  "I 

47 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

wish  I  had  something  better  to  offer  you.  I  like 
your  pluck." 

"I  am  not  showing  any  pluck  so  far,"  con- 
fessed Walter.  "You  have  scared  me  out  of  a 
year's  growth.  But  I'm  willing  to  take  a  chance 
if  you  are." 

"Then  come  along  with  me  to  the  Mount 
Hope  wharf,  and  I'll  put  you  on  my  pay-roll." 

The  weather  was  wiltingly  hot  for  one  fresh 
from  a  northern  winter,  but  as  Walter  followed 
his  imperturbable  employer  he  felt  the  chills 
run  up  and  down  his  spine.  The  sight  of  the 
havoc  wrought  by  two  boxes  of  dynamite  was 
not  in  the  least  reassuring. 

"Here  is  where  I  get  scattered  all  over  the 
tropical  landscape,"  he  said  to  himself.  "A 
greenhorn  like  me  is  sure  to  do  something 
foolish,  and  if  I  stub  my  toe  just  once,  I  vanish 
with  a  large  bang." 

He  might  have  taken  to  his  heels  but  for  the 
soothing  companionship  of  Mr.  Naughton,  who 
was  humming  the  air  of  a  popular  song  and 
seemed  to  have  not  a  care  in  the  world.  Ahead 
of  them  lay  a  rusty  tramp  steamer  flying  a 
red  powder-flag  in  her  rigging.  A  few  laborers 

48 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

and  sailors  were  loafing  in  the  shade  of  the 
warehouse.  At  a  word  from  Mr.  Naughton 
they  filed  on  board,  some  to  climb  down  into 
the  hold,  others  to  range  themselves  between 
an  open  hatch  and  the  empty  freight-cars  on  the 
wharf. 

Walter  pulled  off  his  shirt,  gingerly  tightened 
his  belt,  and  took  the  station  assigned  him  on 
deck.  Presently  the  men  below  began  to  pass 
up  the  heavy  wooden  boxes  from  one  to  another 
until  the  dangerous  packages  came  to  Walter, 
who  was  instructed  to  help  carry  them  to  the 
ship's  side. 

He  eyed  the  first  of  them  dubiously  for  a 
moment,  took  a  long  breath,  and  clasped  the 
box  to  his  breast,  squeezing  it  so  tightly  that  he 
was  red  in  the  face.  Lifting  his  feet  very  high 
and  setting  them  down  with  the  greatest  cau- 
tion, he  advanced  with  the  knee  action  of  a  blue- 
ribbon  winner  in  a  horse-show.  Quaking  lest 
he  trip  or  stumble,  he  delivered  the  box  to  the 
man  at  the  gangway.  The  seasoned  handlers 
chuckled,  and  Mr.  Naughton  said  to  the  Amer- 
ican who  was  checking  the  cargo: 

"I  took  no  risks  in  picking  up  that  youngster, 
49 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

even  if  he  is  a  new  hand  with  the  powder.  His 
nerves  haven't  been  spoiled  by  rum  or  cigarettes. 
Nice,  clean-built  chap,  isn't  he?  What  do  you 
think  of  him?" 

"He  is  no  stranded  loafer  or  he  would  sponge 
on  the  Americans  in  Colon  sooner  than  work  on 
the  silver  roll." 

"I  shall  ask  him  a  few  questions  when  we 
knock  off,"  returned  Naughton. 

After  Walter  had  safely  handled  a  score  of 
boxes,  he  gained  confidence  and  worried  less 
about  "'splodin'  himself  to  glory,"  as  he  toiled 
to  keep  pace  with  the  other  men.  The  humid 
heat  was  exhausting,  but  as  the  afternoon  wore 
on  his  efficiency  steadily  increased.  When  the 
quitting  hour  came,  Mr.  Naughton  told  him: 

"I'll  be  glad  to  keep  you  on  until  the  cargo  is 
out.  Where  are  you  living?" 

"Nowhere  at  present.  I  can't  afford  to  go 
to  a  hotel,  and  even  if  I  had  the  price  I  am 
afraid  Colon  might  disagree  with  me." 

"Oh,  it  is  a  healthy  town  nowadays.  Our 
people  have  cleaned  it  up  like  a  new  parlor." 

"I  mean  the  police — "  began  Walter,  but 
this  sounded  so  suspicious  that  he  blushed, 

50  " 


Lifting  his  feet  very  high  and  setting  them  down  with  the 
greatest  caution 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE   GANG 

thought  it  hardly  worth  while  explaining,  and 
concluded,  "I  guess  I  can  find  a  bed  some- 
where." 

Mr.  Naughton  whistled,  cocked  a  scrutiniz- 
ing eye,  and  observed: 

"So  you  got  into  trouble  with  the  Spiggoty 
police?  Anything  serious?  I  won't  give  you 
away." 

"Nothing  against  my  morals,"  smiled  Walter. 
"My  manners  were  disliked." 

"  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  One  of  my  minor 
ambitions  has  been  to  punch  the  head  of  a 
Panamanian  policeman.  The  chesty  little  beg- 
gars!" drawled  Mr.  Naughton.  "You  don't 
belong  with  the  laborers,  Goodwin,  and  you 
wouldn't  like  their  quarters.  I  can  find  you  a 
place  to  sleep  at  our  bachelor  hotel,  and  you 
can  get  commissary  meals  at  thirty  cents  each. 
Uncle  Sam  is  a  pretty  good  landlord." 

Cordially  thanking  him,  Walter  exclaimed  as 
he  straightened  his  aching  back: 

"I  haven't  been  as  lame  and  tired  since  I 
pitched  a  twelve-inning  game  for  the  high- 
school  championship  of  the  State.  Phew!  I 
must  have  moved  enough  dynamite  already  to 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

blow  Colon  off  the  map.    But  I'll  be  glad  to 
report  in  the  morning,  sir." 

This  casual  reference  to  base-ball  had  a  most 
surprising  effect  upon  the  placid  Mr.  Naughton, 
who  had  seemed  proof  against  excitement.  He 
jumped  as  if  he  had  been  shot  at,  grasped  Wal- 
ter by  the  arm,  and  shouted  eagerly: 

"  Say  that  again.  Can  you  pitch?  Are  you  a 
real  ball-player?  Man  alive,  tell  me  all  about  it ! " 

Walter  stared  at  the  "powder  man"  as  if 
suspecting  him  of  mild  insanity. 

"We  have  a  crack  nine  in  Wolverton  for  a 
high-school,"  he  replied.  "It  is  a  mill  town, 
you  see,  and  most  of  the  fellows  begin  playing 
ball  on  the  open  lots  as  soon  as  they  can  walk. 
We  were  good  enough  last  season  to  beat  two  or 
three  of  the  smaller  college  teams." 

"And  you  were  the  regular  pitcher?"  breath- 
lessly demanded  Mr.  Naughton,  as  he  backed 
away  and  surveyed  the  broad-shouldered  youth 
from  head  to  foot. 

"Yes,  I  pitched  in  all  the  games." 

"Well,  you  handle  yourself  like  a  ball-player, 
and  I  believe  you  are  one.  You  come  along  to 
supper  with  me." 

52 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

"But  what  in  the  world — "  began  the  be- 
wildered Walter. 

"Leave  it  to  me.  Your  destiny  is  in  my 
hands,"  was  the  mysterious  utterance  of  Mr. 
Naughton. 

In  the  cool  of  the  evening  they  sat  and  ate 
at  their  leisure  on  the  breezy  piazza  of  the 
"gold  employees'"  hotel.  From  other  small 
tables  near  by  several  men  called  out  greetings 
to  Naughton,  who  beckoned  them  over  to  be 
presented  to  his  protege*.  No  sooner  had  they 
learned  that  the  tall  lad  was  a  base-ball  pitcher 
of  proven  prowess  than  they  became  effusively, 
admiringly  cordial.  In  fact,  Walter  held  a  sort 
of  court. 

"Goodwin  is  one  of  my  unloading  gang  on 
the  dynamite  steamer,"  explained  Naughton. 

At  this  there  arose  a  fiercely  protesting 
chorus.  One  might  have  thought  they  were 
about  to  mob  the  "powder  man." 

"How  careless,  Naughton!  It  makes  no  dif- 
ference about  you,  but  we  can't  afford  to  risk 
having  a  ball-player  blown  up." 

"A  real  pitcher  is  worth  his  weight  in  gold 
just  now." 

53 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"It  won't  do,  Naughton,  old  man.  If  you 
permit  this  valuable  person  to  be  destroyed, 
the  Cristobal  Baseball  Association  will  hold  you 
responsible." 

"Don't  you  dare  let  him  go  near  your  con- 
founded dynamite  ship  again." 

Thanks  to  the  magic  of  base-ball,  although  he 
could  not  understand  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
it,  Walter  found  himself  no  longer  a  friendless 
waif  of  fortune,  but  regarded  as  something  too 
rare  and  precious  to  be  risked  with  a  dynamite 
gang.  It  seemed  rather  absurd  that  these 
transplanted  Americans  should  have  any  sur- 
plus energy  for  athletics  after  the  day's  work 
in  the  steaming  climate  of  the  Isthmus.  But 
his  new  friends  proceeded  to  enlighten  him,  led 
by  Naughton,  who  exclaimed  with  much  gusto  : 

"My  son,  we  eat  base-ball.  The  Isthmian 
League  is  beginning  its  third  season,  and  you 
have  alighted  among  the  choicest  collection  of 
fans,  cranks,  and  rooters  that  ever  adorned  the 
bleachers.  Mr.  Harrison  here  is  captain  of  the 
Cristobal  nine.  Our  best  pitcher  went  back  to 
the  States  last  week." 

"But  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  no  time  to  play," 
54 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

said  Walter.  "I  didn't  come  down  here  for 
base-ball." 

"Oh,  we  all  work  for  a  living.  Don't  get  a 
wrong  impression  of  us,"  put  in  Harrison,  a 
young  man  of  chunky,  bow-legged  type  of 
architecture  whom  nature  had  obviously  de- 
signed for  a  short-stop.  "I  am  a  civil  engineer, 
Atlantic  Division.  I  used  to  play  at  Cornell. 
We  can't  practise  much,  but  if  you  want  to  see 
some  snappy  games " 

"I  would  rather  handle  the  dynamite  than 
umpire  when  you  play  Culebra  or  Ancon," 
broke  in  Naughton,  who  showed  signs  of  re- 
newed excitement  as  he  went  on  to  say  to  Har- 
rison : 

"If  I  bring  Goodwin  to  the  field  at  five 
o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon,  will  you  furnish 
a  catcher  and  give  him  a  chance  to  limber 
up?  Better  lay  off  and  take  it  easy  for  the 
day,  hadn't  you?"  he  added,  turning  to 
Walter. 

"No,  the  hard  work  will  take  the  kinks  out 
of  my  muscles,  and  I  can't  afford  to  lose  any 
time  on  my  first  job." 

"Oh,  hang  his  tuppenny  job!"  spoke  up  one 
55 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

of  the  company.    "He  doesn't  understand  how 
important  he  is.    Enlighten  him,  Harrison." 

"This  frenzied  person  on  my  right  means  to 
convey  that  a  young  man  with  a  first-class 
pitching  arm  will  have  the  inside  track  with  the 
powers  that  be,"  explained  the  Cristobal  cap- 
tain. "There  is  Major  Glendinning,  for  in- 
stance  " 

"He  is  head  of  the  Department  of  Commis- 
sary and  Subsistence,"  chimed  in  Naughton. 
"He  feeds  and  clothes  the  whole  Canal  Zone. 
When  Cristobal  makes  a  three-bagger  he  jumps 
up  and  down  and  yells  himself  hoarse." 

"But  I  heard  Colonel  Gunther  himself  say 
that  no  more  Americans  were  needed  down 
here,"  said  Walter. 

"That  doesn't  mean  there  is  to  be  no  more 
weeding  out  of  undesirables,"  Naughton  ex- 
plained. "There  is  still  room  on  our  happy 
little  Isthmus  for  a  man  who  can  deliver  the 
goods.  I  don't  want  you  to  infer  that  the  gov- 
ernment is  hiring  ball-players.  But  as  an  intro- 
duction, Goodwin,  you  couldn't  beat  it  if  you 
brought  letters  from  eleven  United  States 
senators." 

56 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE   GANG 

"Now  let's  talk  base-ball,"  impatiently  inter- 
jected a  lathy  individual  in  riding  breeches  and 
puttees,  who  had  come  in  from  a  construction 
camp  somewhere  off  in  the  jungle. 

"  We  ought  to  tuck  our  prize  package  in  bed 
very  early,"  objected  Naughton.  "He  }s  as 
sleepy  as  a  tree  full  of  owls." 

"Juggling  dynamite  is  no  picnic!"  and  Wal- 
ter struggled  with  a  yawn.  His  friends  good- 
naturedly  escorted  him  to  the  bachelor  quarters, 
where  he  speedily  rolled  into  his  cot  and  dreamed 
of  fighting  a  duel  with  General  Quesada,  the 
weapons  being  base-ball  bats. 

When  he  reported  on  board  the  dynamite 
ship  next  morning,  Naughton  greeted  him  with 
a  slightly  worried  air  and  declared: 

"I  have  been  thinking  it  over  and  perhaps 
those  chaps  were  right.  We  have  very  few  ac- 
cidents with  the  stuff,  but  we  ought  not  to  run 
the  slightest  risk  of  losing  the  league  champion- 
ship to  Culebra  or  Ancon." 

Walter  laughed  and  replied: 

"This  is  the  best  kind  of  practice  for  me.  If 
I  can  keep  my  nerve  and  make  no  errors,  I  am 
not  likely  to  be  rattled  when  the  bases  are  full." 

57 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

This  argument  had  weight,  although  Naugh- 
ton  was  still  anxious  as  he  strolled  to  his  office. 
By  noon  the  stiffness  had  been  sweated  out  of 
Walter's  back  and  shoulders,  and  the  supple 
vigor  was  returning  to  his  good  right  arm. 
Shortly  before  five  o'clock  the  inconsistent 
Naughton,  who  lived  in  daily  peril  of  his  life 
with  all  the  composure  in  the  world,  was  fairly 
fidgeting  to  be  off  to  the  base-ball  field.  A  bat- 
tered victoria  and  a  rat  of  a  Panama  pony 
hurried  them  thither,  and  they  found  Harrison 
and  several  other  players  busy  at  practice 
against  a  background  of  cocoanut  palms  and 
bread-fruit  trees. 

The  Cristobal  catcher  trotted  up  looking  im- 
mensely pleased: 

"Hello,  Goodwin,  you  don't  know  me," said 
he,  "but  my  kid  brother  was  on  that  Elmsford 
freshman  team  that  you  trounced  so  unmerci- 
fully last  season.  I  saw  the  game.  Brewster 
is  my  name.  When  Harrison  told  me  he  had 
been  lucky  enough  to  discover  you,  I  chortled 
for  joy." 

This  was  a  cheering  indorsement  for  the 
others  to  hear  and  it  gave  Walter  the  confidence 

58 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

of  which  he  stood  in  need.  A  great  deal  ap- 
peared to  depend  on  his  pitching  ability,  and 
this  test  was  more  trying  to  the  nerves  than 
handling  dynamite  or  dodging  General  Quesada. 

The  catcher  tossed  him  a  ball  and  they  moved 
to  one  side  of  the  field.  At  first  Walter  pitched 
with  caution,  but  as  he  warmed  to  his  work  the 
ball  sped  into  Brewster's  glove  with  a  wicked 
thud. 

"Send  'em  along  easy  to-day.  Better  not 
overdo  it,"  the  catcher  warned  him.  Walter 
smiled  and  swung  his  arm  with  a  trifle  more 
steam  in  the  delivery.  He  felt  that  he  must 
show  these  friendly  critics  what  he  had  in  him, 
wherefore  the  solid  Brewster  withstood  a  bom- 
bardment that  made  him  grunt  and  perspire. 
The  other  players  looked  and  whispered  among 
themselves  with  evident  approval. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  proudly  exclaimed 
Naughton.  "Am  I  a  good  scout?  I  unearthed 
this  boy  phenomenon." 

The  battery  had  paused  to  cool  off  when  a 
big-boned  American  saddle-horse  came  across 
the  field  at  an  easy  canter.  The  rider  sat  as 
erect  as  a  cavalryman,  although  he  was  old 

59 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

enough  to  be  Walter's  grandfather.    Halting 
beside  the  group,  he  said: 

"I  rode  out  this  way  on  the  chance  of  seeing 
a  bit  of  practice.  Do  you  expect  to  whip  those 
hard-hitting  rascals  from  Culebra?" 

"Good  afternoon,  Major  Glendinning,"  re- 
plied Naughton,  with  a  wink  at  the  others. 
"Harrison  has  been  feeling  very  gloomy  over 
the  prospects.  We  lost  our  only  first-class 
pitcher,  you  know." 

"What  an  outrageous  shame  it  was!"  ear- 
nestly ejaculated  the  head  of  the  Department  of 
Commissary  and  Subsistence. 

Harrison  nudged  Naughton.  Major  Glen- 
dinning had  come  upon  the  scene  at  precisely 
the  right  moment.  Here  was  the  employer 
who,  above  all  others,  must  be  made  to  take  an 
interest  in  Goodwin's  welfare  if  these  amiable 
conspirators  could  bring  it  about.  Noting  that 
Walter  was  beyond  ear-shot,  Harrison  spoke 
up. 

"Sorry  you  couldn't  arrive  a  little  sooner, 
Major.  We  are  inclined  to  think  we  have  found 
a  better  pitcher,  though  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
we  can  keep  him  at  Cristobal." 

60 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

The  elderly  gentleman  leaned  forward  in  the 
saddle  and  eagerly  inquired: 

"Bless  me,  is  that  true?  I  swear  you  don't 
look  at  all  gloomy,  Harrison.  Who  is  he? 
Where  is  he?  And  you  think  he  can  pitch 
winning  ball  for  Cristobal?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Brewster  has  seen  him  play  at 
home.  He  is  one  of  your  born  pitchers.  He  is 
a  wonder." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  saying  we  can't  keep 
him?"  demanded  the  major. 

"He  is  working  for  me — on  the  silver  roll," 
vouchsafed  Naughton,  with  a  hopeless  kind  of 
sigh.  "He  hasn't  been  able  to  find  anything 
better  to  do.  But  I  can't  hold  him,  of  course. 
He  is  a  first-class  man  in  every  way.  He  is 
likely  to  quit  almost  any  day  and  drift  over  to 
Culebra  or  Ancon,  where  he  will  be  sure  to 
land  a  position  on  the  gold  roll,  as  foreman, 
clerk,  or  time-keeper.  And  then  he  will  be 
pitching  for  our  hated  rivals." 

"Um-m,  he  will,  will  he?"  and  Major  Glen- 
dinning  fairly  bristled.  "I  am  not  letting  any 
good  men  get  away  from  my  department. 
Show  him  to  me." 

61 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

Naughton  nodded  in  the  direction  of  Walter, 
who  was  deep  in  a  discussion  of  signals  with  his 
catcher.  Then  the  "powder  man,"  with  Har- 
rison as  fluent  ally,  paid  tribute  to  the  manly 
qualities  of  the  young  pitcher,  nor  were  their 
motives  wholly  selfish.  The  major  listened  at- 
tentively, chewing  his  gray  mustache,  and  now 
and  then  glancing  at  Walter  with  keen  ap- 
praisement. At  length  he  exclaimed: 

"You  chaps  know  how  to  get  on  my  blind 
side.  I  have  had  my  eye  on  a  cheerful  young 
loafer  in  the  Cristobal  commissary  who  is  not 
earning  his  salary.  If  he  should — er — resign, 
there  might  be  a  vacancy.  I  like  Goodwin's 
looks.  Fetch  him  over  here,  if  you  please." 

Naughton  and  Harrison  grinned  at  each  other 
as  they  marched  to  the  side  of  the  field  and  es- 
corted Walter  with  great  pomp  of  manner.  The 
abashed  pitcher  wiped  his  dripping  face  and 
heard  Major  Glendinning  say  to  him: 

"You  had  better  not  think  of  leaving  Cris- 
tobal just  now.  It  is  the  best  place  in  the  Zone. 
When  you  are  through  with  Naughton  and  his 
infernal  cargo,  come  and  see  me  in  my  office, 
if  he  doesn't  blow  you  sky-high  in  the  mean- 

62 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE  GANG 

time.  And  don't  forget  that  I  expect  you  to 
win  that  next  game  against  Culebra." 

He  wheeled  his  horse  sharply  and  trotted 
from  the  field,  leaving  Walter  to  gaze  after  him 
with  a  dazed,  foolish  smile.  Harrison  thumped 
him  on  the  back  and  jubilantly  shouted: 

"Wasn't  that  easy?    What  did  we  tell  you?" 

"But  do  you  honestly  think  he  has  any  in- 
tention of  giving  me  a  job  on  the  gold  roll?" 
tremulously  implored  Walter,  whose  emotions 
were  in  a  state  of  tumult. 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Naughton.  "He  can  al- 
ways find  a  place  for  a  young  fellow  with  the 
right  stuff  in  him." 

"  'A  husky  young  fellow  with  the  right  stuff 
in  him, '  "  echoed  Walter.  The  familiar  words 
had  come  home  to  roost. 

"He  will  start  you  in  at  seventy-five  per 
month" — this  was  from  Harrison — "and  you 
will  have  to  earn  it.  Base-ball  cuts  no  figure 
with  the  major  in  business  hours." 

"  Your  conscience  can  rest  easy  on  that  score," 
added  Naughton.  "  No  danger  of  your  cheating 
Uncle  Sam." 

"An  honest  pull  is  the  noblest  work  of  man," 
63 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

declaimed  Harrison,  and  this  seemed  to  sum  up 
the  whole  matter. 

When  Walter  returned  to  his  quarters,  his 
first  impulse  was  to  write  a  letter  home.  This 
proved  more  difficult  than  might  seem.  To 
report  to  his  anxious  parents  and  his  adoring 
sister  that  he  was  employed  on  board  a  dyna- 
mite ship  would  not  tend  to  ease  their  minds. 
He  could  imagine  this  bit  of  news  landing  in 
the  cottage  at  Wolverton  with  the  effect  of  a 
full-sized  explosion.  Eleanor  would  probably 
take  her  pen  in  hand  to  compose  a  metrical 
companion  piece  of  "The  Boy  Stood  on  the 
Burning  Deck." 

"I  must  be  tactful,"  frowningly  reflected 
Walter.  "I  don't  want  to  make  them  nervous. 
Perhaps  I  had  better  not  go  into  details.  I  will 
simply  say  that  I  have  a  fairly  lucrative  posi- 
tion. Twenty  cents  an  hour  isn't  much  down 
here,  but  it  sounds  big  alongside  that  four- 
dollar-a-week  job  hi  the  hardware  store." 

Then  he  discovered  that  to  discuss  the  bet- 
ter position  which  he  had  not  yet  secured  was 
to  raise  hopes  that  sounded  fantastic.  Those 
rival  ball-players  from  Culebra  might  knock 

64 


WITH  THE  DYNAMITE   GANG 

him  out  of  the  box  in  the  first  inning.  This 
would  mean  good-by  to  Major  Glendinning's 
favor.  Base-ball  cranks  were  fickle  and  uncer- 
tain persons.  Walter  therefore  merely  informed 
the  family  that  the  climate  agreed  with  him 
and  he  was  sure  his  judgment  had  been  sound 
in  coming  to  the  Isthmus. 

"Between  unloading  dynamite  and  worrying 
about  this  base-ball  proposition,"  he  solilo- 
quized, "not  to  mention  the  fact  that  General 
Quesada  is  camping  on  my  trail,  I  expect  to  be 
gray-headed  in  about  one  more  week." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

THE  dynamite  ship  had  been  almost  emptied 
of  cargo,  when  Naughton  suggested: 

"I  won't  need  you  on  this  job  after  to-day, 
Goodwin.  Why  not  go  to  Culebra  with  me  to- 
morrow morning  and  see  some  of  the  canal 
work?  I  shall  have  to  inspect  the  dynamite 
stored  in  the  magazines." 

Walter  jumped  at  the  chance  of  a  holiday 
before  venturing  to  interview  Major  Glendin- 
ning.  He  was  eager  to  behold  the  famous  cut 
where  they  were  "making  the  dirt  fly,"  and  to 
find  his  friend  Jack  Devlin,  the  steam-shovel 
man  who  had  beguiled  him  to  the  Isthmus. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  wonderment  as  keen  as 
that  of  the  early  explorers  that  Walter  was 
whisked  in  a  passenger  train,  as  if  on  a  magic 
carpet,  into  the  heart  of  the  jungle,  past  palm- 
thatched  native  huts  perched  upon  lush  green 
hill-sides,  by  trimly  kept  American  settlements, 

66 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

by  vine-draped  rusty  rows  of  engines,  cars,  and 
dredges  long  ago  abandoned  by  the  French. 

Soon  there  appeared  the  mighty  Gatun  dam 
and  locks  flung  majestically  across  a  wide  val- 
ley, resembling  not  so  much  man's  handiwork 
as  an  integral  part  of  the  landscape,  made  to 
endure  as  long  as  the  hills  themselves.  Upon 
and  around  them  moved  in  ceaseless,  orderly 
activity  a  multitude  of  men  and  battalions  of 
machines,  piling  up  rock  and  concrete. 

Walter  drew  a  long  breath  and  exclaimed,  his 
face  aglow: 

"It  makes  me  sit  up  and  blink.  Is  there  any- 
thing bigger  to  see?" 

"The  Gatun  locks  alone  will  cost  twenty-five 
million,  not  to  mention  the  dam,"  replied  the 
practical  Naughton,  "but  Culebra  Cut  is  the 
heftiest  job  of  them  all.  It  broke  the  poor 
Frenchmen's  hearts  and  their  pocket-books." 

They  came  at  length  to  this  far-famed  range 
of  lofty  hills  which  link  the  Andes  of  South  and 
Central  America.  Leaving  the  tram,  Naughton 
tramped  ahead  toward  the  gigantic  gash  dug  in 
the  continental  divide.  Clouds  of  gray  smoke 
spurted  from  far  below,  and  the  earth  trembled 

67 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

to  one  booming  shock  after  another.  Dyna- 
mite was  rending  the  rock  and  clay,  and  Walter 
realized,  with  a  little  thrill  of  pride,  that  he  had 
been  really  helping  to  build  the  Panama  Canal. 

Presently  he  stood  at  the  brink  of  this  tre- 
mendous chasm.  It  seemed  inadequate  to  call 
it  a  "cut."  He  gazed  down  with  absorbed  fas- 
cination at  the  maze  of  railroad  tracks,  scores  of 
them  abreast,  which  covered  the  unfinished  bed 
of  the  canal.  Along  the  opposite  side,  clinging 
to  excavated  shelves  which  resembled  titanic 
stairs,  ran  more  tracks.  Beside  them  toiled 
the  steam-shovels  loading  the  processions  of 
waiting  trains. 

No  wonder  Jack  Devlin,  engineer  of  "Num- 
ber Twenty-six,"  had  swaggered  across  the  deck 
of  the  Saragossa.  He  knew  that  he  was  doing 
a  man's  work.  To  tame  and  guide  one  of  these 
panting,  hungry  monsters  was  like  being  the 
master  of  a  dragon  of  the  fairy  stories.  There 
could  be  no  Panama  Canal  without  them.  In- 
telligent, docile,  tireless,  they  could  literally  re- 
move mountains. 

Walter  sat  upon  a  rock  and  watched  one  of 
them  nudge  and  nose  a  huge  bowlder  this  way 

68 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

and  that  with  its  great  steel  dipper,  exactly  as 
if  it  were  getting  ready  to  make  a  meal  of  it. 
Then  the  mass  was  picked  up,  swung  over  a 
flat-car,  swiftly,  delicately,  precisely,  and  the 
huge  jaws  opened  to  lay  down  the  heavy  morsel. 
Walter  decided  that  he  wanted  to  be  a  steam- 
shovel  man.  Naughton  had  to  speak  twice 
before  the  interested  lad  heard  him  say: 

"I  shall  be  busy  for  some  time,  and  may 
have  to  jump  on  a  work-train  as  far  as  Pedro 
Miguel  station.  Go  down  into  the  Cut,  if  you 
like,  and  look  around." 

"Thanks.  Say,  Mr.  Naughton,  how  old 
must  a  man  be  to  run  a  steam-shovel?" 

"They  break  them  in  as  firemen.  Are  you 
tough  enough  to  shovel  coal  all  day?  Don't 
let  these  Culebra  tarriers  coax  you  away  from 
us.  You  are  scheduled  to  play  ball  for  Cristo- 
bal, understand?" 

By  means  of  several  sections  of  steep  wooden 
stairs  Walter  clambered  to  the  bottom  of  the 
cut,  and  dodged  across  the  muddy  area  of 
trackage  to  gain  the  nearest  bank  upon  which 
the  steam-shovels  were  at  work.  Fascinated, 
he  halted  to  watch  one  of  them  at  closer  range. 

69 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

A  noise  of  shouting  came  from  several  la- 
borers who  were  running  along  a  track  further 
up  the  steep  slope.  The  nearest  steam-shovels 
blew  their  whistles  furiously.  The  shrill  blasts 
were  sounding  some  kind  of  warning  and  Walter 
said  to  himself: 

"Naughton's  men  must  be  ready  to  set  oft 
a  blast.  I  guess  I  had  better  move  on." 

He  started  to  follow  the  fleeing  laborers  when 
a  mass  of  muddy  earth  came  slipping  down  a 
dozen  yards  in  front  of  him.  It  blocked  the 
shelf  upon  which  he  had  climbed,  and  he 
checked  himself,  gazing  confusedly  up  the 
slope.  A  large  part  of  the  overhanging  hill-side 
appeared  to  be  in  sluggish  motion.  The  wet, 
red  soil  far  up  toward  the  top  of  the  cut  had 
begun  to  slide  as  if  it  were  being  pushed  into 
the  bed  of  the  canal  by  some  unseen  force. 
Dislodged  fragments  of  rock  rolled  down  the 
surface  of  the  slide  and  clattered  in  advance  of 
it,  but  so  deliberate  was  the  movement  of  the 
mass  that  there  seemed  to  be  time  enough  to 
escape  it. 

Walter  ran  along  the  ties  and  began  to  plough 
knee-deep  through  the  impeding  heap  of  muddy 

70 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

tenacious  clay  on  the  track.  He  glanced  up- 
ward again,  halted  irresolutely,  and  gasped 
aloud: 

"Great  Scott,  here  comes  a  whole  train  of 
cars  falling  downhill." 

The  landslide  had  started  just  beneath  the 
uppermost  shelf  of  excavated  rock,  and  the  line 
of  track  supported  thereupon  was  almost  in- 
stantly undermined.  The  rails  tilted  and 
slipped  with  their  weight  of  rock-laden  cars 
before  the  engine  could  drag  them  clear.  The 
train  crew  jumped  and  managed  to  crawl  to 
the  firm  ground  at  the  crest  of  the  slope  a  mo- 
ment before  the  flat-cars  toppled  over  and 
broke  loose  from  their  couplings.  Then  the 
cars  hung  for  an  instant,  spilled  their  burden  of 
rock,  which  made  a  little  avalanche  of  its  own, 
and  rolled  down  the  slope  with  a  prodigious 
clatter. 

At  this  new  peril,  Walter  knew  not  which  way 
to  turn.  He  could  not  be  blamed  for  losing  his 
presence  of  mind.  The  cars  parted  company, 
taking  erratic  courses,  tumbling  end  over  end. 
One  of  them  bounded  off  at  a  slant  to  fall  in 
front  of  him,  while  another  was  booming  down 
to  menace  his  retreat.  All  this  was  a  matter  of 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

seconds,  precious  time  that  was  wasted  for  lack 
of  decision. 

Instead  of  making  a  wild  dash  in  one  direc- 
tion or  the  other,  Walter  danced  up  and  down 
in  the  same  spot,  his  eyes  fairly  popping  from 
his  head.  The  result  was  that,  by  a  miracle  of 
good  fortune,  the  flat-cars  roared  and  rattled 
past  on  either  side  and  left  him  unscathed. 

Then  the  huge,  loosened  layer  of  earth,  mov- 
ing with  lazy  momentum,  filled  the  ledge  on 
which  he  stood,  brushed  him  off,  and  carried 
him  down  the  slope.  To  his  amazement  he  was 
not  wholly  buried,  but  rolled  over  and  over, 
now  on  the  surface,  now  struggling  in  a  sticky 
smother  of  stuff  that  held  him  like  a  fly  in  a 
bed  of  mortar.  A  projecting  stratum  of  rock, 
not  yet  blasted  away,  checked  the  leisurely 
progress  of  the  mass  before  it  reached  the  bottom 
of  the  cut. 

Plastered  with  mud  from  his  hair  to  his  heels, 
bleeding  from  a  dozen  scratches,  his  clothes  in 
rags,  Walter  was  quite  astonished  to  find  him- 
self alive.  He  was  stuck  fast  in  clay  almost  to 
the  waist  and  so  dazed  and  breathless  that  he 
was  unable  to  call  for  help. 

Glancing  stupidly  up  the  slope,  he  beheld  a 
72 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

steam-shovel  sway  and  totter.  Nothing  could 
surprise  him  now.  With  languid  interest  he 
watched  the  towering  machine  turn  over  on  its 
side  in  a  leisurely  manner  and  then  come  slip- 
ping down  to  the  next  shelf.  It  resembled  some 
prehistoric  monster  with  a  prodigiously  long 
neck,  which  had  lost  its  footing. 

It  came  to  rest  on  its  side  and  out  of  one  of 
the  cab  windows  spilled  a  large  man  in  overalls 
who  tobogganed  down  the  miry  slope  with  ex- 
traordinary velocity,  arms  and  legs  flying. 

He  fetched  up  within  a  few  yards  of  Walter, 
sat  up,  wiped  the  mud  from  his  eyes,  and  sput- 
tered : 

"Poor  old  Twenty-six!  She's  sure  in  a  mess 
this  time." 

Recognizing  Jack  Devlin,  Walter  managed  to 
find  his  voice  and  called  feebly: 

"Is  this  what  you  call  a  great  place  for  a 
husky  young  fellow?" 

The  steam-shovel  man  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
active  and  apparently  unhurt,  as  if  such  inci- 
dents were  all  in  the  day's  work.  Plunging 
through  the  debris  of  the  slide,  he  peered  into 
Walter's  besmeared  and  bleeding  countenance. 

73 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

The  voice  and  the  words  had  sounded  familiar 
and  assisted  identification. 

"Well,  I'll  be  scuppered!"  roared  Jack  Devlin. 
"  Goodwin  is  your  name.  You  took  my  advice 
and  beat  it  to  the  Isthmus.  I'll  have  you  out 
of  this  in  a  jiffy." 

A  gang  of  laborers  arrived  a  moment  later, 
and  with  Devlin  shouting  stentorian  orders, 
their  shovels  speedily  and  carefully  dug  out 
the  hapless  Walter.  They  were  about  to  carry 
him  to  the  nearest  switch-tender's  shelter  when 
he  groaned  protestingly: 

"Ouch!  Don't  grab  my  right  arm.  It 
hurts." 

Battered  and  sore  as  he  was,  all  other  damage 
was  forgotten  as  he  tried  to  raise  the  precious 
right  arm,  his  pitching  arm,  the  mainstay  of 
his  fortunes  on  the  Isthmus.  An  acute  pain 
stabbed  him  between  wrist  and  elbow.  He 
murmured  sorrowfully: 

"It  is  broken  or  badly  sprained.  I'm  not 
dead,  but  I  certainly  am  unfortunate." 

"Those  that  try  to  stop  a  landslide  in  the 
Cut  are  generally  lugged  out  feet  first,"  cheer- 
fully remarked  Devlin.  "The  landscape  isn't 

74 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

fastened  down  very  tight.  Were  you  looking 
forme?" 

"Yes.  And  I  found  you,  didn't  I?"  Walter 
grinned  as  he  added :  "  We  were  thrown  together, 
all  right." 

They  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible, 
while  Devlin  forgot  his  sorrow  over  the  plight  of 
his  beloved  "Twenty-six." 

"I  feel  sort  of  responsible  for  you,  Goodwin," 
said  he.  "I'm  going  to  put  you  in  the  hospital 
car  of  the  next  train  to  Ancon,  where  they'll 
give  you  the  best  of  everything.  I  can't  go 
with  you,  but  I'll  try  to  see  you  to-night.  I 
must  boss  a  first-aid-to-the-injured  job  on  that 
poor  old  steam-shovel  of  mine.  She  looks  per- 
fectly ridiculous,  doesn't  she?  Now,  cheer  up." 

The  American  hospital  buildings  at  Ancon 
are  magnificently  equipped,  and  their  situation 
along  the  windy  hill-side  commands  a  memo- 
rable view  of  the  gray  old  city  of  Panama,  the 
wide  blue  bay  adorned  with  islands,  and  the 
rolling  Pacific.  To  Walter  Goodwin  the  place 
seemed  like  a  prison,  and  he  awaited  the  sur- 
geon's verdict  with  the  dismal  face  of  a  man 
about  to  be  sentenced.  The  sundry  cuts  and 

75 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

contusions  were  of  small  account.  A  few  days 
would  mend  them.  But  his  aching,  disabled 
arm  was  quite  a  different  matter. 

"You  were  born  lucky  or  you  would  be  in 
the  morgue,"  said  the  genial  young  surgeon  of 
the  accident  ward. 

"I  am  damaged  enough,"  sighed  Walter. 
"What  about  this  arm?" 

"No  fracture.  A  severe  wrench  that  will 
make  it  pretty  sore  for  a  month  or  so." 

"A  month  or  so!"  and  Walter  winked  to  hold 
back  the  tears.  "Why,  I  have  to  pitch  a  game 
of  ball  with  this  arm  next  week." 

"Nothing  doing,"  decreed  the  surgeon.  "You 
had  better  stay  here  for  two  or  three  days  and 
we'll  try  our  best  to  patch  you  up  in  record 
time.  Do  you  want  to  notify  any  friends?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Walter.  "Please  send 
word  to  Mr.  Harrison,  captain  of  the  Cristobal 
nine." 

"'Bucky'  Harrison?"  The  surgeon  showed 
lively  interest.  "Then  you  must  be  the  new 
pitcher  for  Cristobal.  We  heard  about  you. 
You  are  in  the  enemy's  camp,  but  we  will  treat 
you  kindly." 

76 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

Having  been  tucked  in  bed,  Walter  felt  that 
he  was  a  perfectly  useless  member  of  society. 
The  landslide  had  wiped  out  his  bright  expecta- 
tions. Major  Glendinning  could  have  no  pos- 
sible interest  in  a  pitcher  with  a  crippled  arm. 
When  dismissed  from  the  hospital  he  would  be 
unable  to  earn  his  food  and  lodging  even  as  a 
laborer.  As  for  his  brave  plan  of  helping  the 
dear  household  in  Wolverton,  he  might  have  to 
beg  aid  from  them. 

Jack  Devlin  appeared  after  supper.  His 
manner  was  contrite  and  subdued  as  he  sat 
down  by  the  cot  and  strongly  gripped  Walter's 
sound  hand. 

"You  and  I  were  sort  of  disorganized  there 
in  the  Cut,"  said  he.  "I  had  no  chance  to  find 
out  how  things  have  been  breaking  for  you. 
Have  you  landed  a  job?  What  about  it?" 

Walter  ruefully  related  the  story  of  his  pil- 
grimage. At  the  episode  of  the  parrot  and 
broomstick,  the  steam-shovel  man  violently  in- 
terrupted: 

"General  Quesada?  I  know  who  he  is — a 
gambler,  and  a  grafter,  and  a  fake  soldier.  He 
trimmed  some  friends  of  mine,  but  never  mind 

77 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

that.  He  is  a  large,  fat,  false  alarm.  Forget 
him." 

When  informed  of  the  base-ball  episode,  he 
shook  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"You  ought  to  have  given  Culebra  first 
chance  at  you,"  he  expostulated.  "Maybe  we 
could  have  found  you  a  job.  I  am  catcher  of 
the  Culebra  nine,  do  you  see?" 

"I'd  rather  be  fireman  of  a  steam-shovel  than 
anything  else  in  the  world,"  Walter  eagerly 
exclaimed. 

"You  will  not  be  fit  to  handle  a  shovel  or  a 
base-ball  for  some  tune,  my  boy.  We  will  not 
let  it  come  between  us,  but  I'm  sorry  you  tied 
up  with  those  low-browed  pirates  at  Cristobal. 
Need  any  money?  Want  to  write  a  letter 
home?" 

"I  am  all  right  for  the  present,  Mr.  Devlin. 
And  I  think  I'll  wait  a  day  or  so  before  writing 
the  folks." 

"You  told  me  when  we  met  on  the  ship  that 
you  were  anxious  to  give  your  father  a  lift. 
It  made  a  great  hit  with  me.  What  about 
that?" 

"  I  guess  I  was  like  General  Quesada's  parrot, 
78 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

I  talked  too  much,"  confessed  Walter.  "I  shall 
be  lucky  if  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

Devlin  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
bade  the  patient  farewell  with  words  of  rough 
and  hearty  encouragement  and  departed  from 
the  ward,  a  big,  masterful  man  with  a  hard  fist 
and  a  soft  heart.  As  he  walked  across  the  hos- 
pital grounds  he  repeated  under  his  breath: 

"He  aimed  to  give  his  father  a  lift.  The 
pluck  of  him!  'Tis  a  pity  that  more  men  on 
the  Isthmus  are  not  thinking  about  the  old 
folks  at  home.  'Tis  a  safe  bet  that  his  father 
needs  a  lift.  The  lad  looked  very  solemn  about 
it." 

He  turned  into  the  hospital  superintendent's 
office  and  asked  a  clerk  for  Walter  Goodwin's 
home  address,  which  the  rules  required  to  be 
recorded.  Then  he  made  a  detour  to  the  Ancon 
post-office,  smiled  craftily,  and  demanded  a 
money-order  application  blank.  Separating 
several  bills  from  a  wad  crumpled  in  his  trousers 
pocket,  he  reflected: 

"He  would  fly  off  the  handle  if  I  suggested 
anything  like  this,  being  a  most  independent 
young  rooster.  But  I  used  to  have  a  daddy  of 

79 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

my  own.    I'll  say  nothing  about  it  till  the  lad 
gets  a  job.    Then  he  can  square  it." 

Thereupon  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin 
as  follows: 

DEAR  SIR: 

Your  son  will  be  unable  to  attend  to  his  affairs  for 
a  few  days,  so  I  am  sending  the  enclosed  amount 
which  had  been  advanced  against  his  salary  account. 
Yours  truly, 

JOHN  DEVLIN. 

P.  S. — He  is  in  the  Ancon  Hospital,  a  bit  mussed  up 
but  nothing  serious.  He  will  write  soon. 

"There!  I  may  be  guilty  of  committing 
something  or  other  under  false  pretences,  but 
I  feel  a  whole  lot  easier  in  my  mind,"  quoth  the 
steam-shovel  man. 

Next  morning  that  bland  dynamite  expert, 
Naughton,  came  to  the  hospital  to  show  Walter 
that  his  friends  hi  Cristobal  had  not  forgotten 
him. 

"What  about  the  base-ball  practice?"  de- 
manded the  patient.  "Have  you  found  an- 
other pitcher? " 

"No.  We  haven't  given  you  up  as  a  total 
loss." 

80 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

"Does  Major  Glendinning  know  I  have  been 
put  out  of  commission?"  Walter's  voice  was 
very  anxious. 

Naughton  smiled  broadly. 

"Yes.  I  saw  him  just  after  your  message 
came  to  Harrison  yesterday  afternoon.  There 
is  no  finer  man  on  the  Isthmus  than  the  major, 
but  he  is  a  trifle  unreasonable  at  times.  He  was 
so  upset  at  the  notion  of  playing  Culebra  with- 
out you  that  he  got  peevish  and  blamed  me  for 
letting  you  wander  into  that  landslide.  And 
then  he  sailed  into  you  for  being  too  slow  to  get 
out  of  the  way  of  it." 

"Then  he  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
me,"  was  Walter's  mournful  conclusion. 

"You  are  not  fit  to  do  anything  just  now," 
evasively  returned  Naughton.  "The  major's 
bearings  are  heated,  but  he  will  cool  down.  He 
took  a  fancy  to  you.  Now  what  can  I  do  for 
you?  You  will  soon  be  on  your  feet  again  and 
going  strong.  Need  any  money?" 

Walter  flushed  and  his  lip  quivered.  Jack 
Devlin  had  asked  the  same  question.  These 
were  friends  worth  having. 

"I  can  get  along  somehow,"  he  bravely 
answered. 

81 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

Naughton  exclaimed  reprovingly: 

"None  of  that.  We  folks  on  the  Isthmus  are 
one  big  family.  You  have  made  good.  Don't 
worry  about  your  meal-ticket  after  you  leave 
the  hospital.  You  may  need  some  spare  change 
for  clothes  and  so  on.  I'll  leave  a  few  dollars 
with  the  nurse." 

"But  I  don't  deserve  all  this  kindness." 

"Nonsense.    What  else?" 

"I  think  I  had  better  send  a  letter  home 
to-day.  I  feel  more  like  it  now.  May  I  dictate 
it  to  you,  Mr.  Naughton?" 

"Sure  thing.  But  don't  let  the  folks  infer 
you  are  down  and  out.  Tell  'em  about  the 
scenery." 

"If  the  scenery  would  only  stay  put,  I 
shouldn't  be  in  the  hospital,"  was  the  patient's 
comment. 

Naughton  chewed  his  pencil  until  Walter 
began: 

MY  DEAREST  FAMILY: 

I  have  had  a  slight  accident,  so  I  cannot  very  well 
use  my  right  hand.  I  have  the  very  best  of  care,  and 
everybody  is  just  bully  to  me. 

He  stared  at  the  ceiling  and  confided  to 
Naughton: 

82 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

"I  am  stumped.  You  see,  it  is  hard  to  ex- 
plain things.  I  was  so  cocksure  of  myself — and 
— and — I  was  going  to  find  a  good  position 
right  away,  and  it  hurts  a  fellow's  pride  like 
the  mischief  to  own  up  that  he  was  all  wrong. 
And  I  don't  want  them  to  worry " 

Naughton  nodded  gravely  and  suggested: 

"  Shall  I  tell  them  about  your  impressions  of 
the  canal?  You  are  right.  We  ought  to  send 
them  no  hard-luck  stories." 

"  Go  ahead,  then.  My  first  impressions  were 
dents.  I'm  covered  with  them.  You  know  more 
about  the  canal  than  I  do." 

Naughton  scribbled  industriously,  and  the 
patient  seemed  pleased  with  the  results. 

"Harrison  will  be  over  to  see  you  soon,"  said 
the  amanuensis.  "You  are  going  to  help  us 
dig  the  Big  Ditch,  so  keep  your  nerve.  Good- 
by  and  good  luck  until  next  time." 

Walter  was  a  low-spirited  and  restless  pa- 
tient. Now  and  then  he  forgot  his  troubles  in 
chatting  with  the  other  men  who  had  been 
brought  into  the  accident  ward.  They  had 
been  wounded  on  the  firing-line  of  this  titanic 
conflict  with  Nature.  Like  good  soldiers  they 

83 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

were  eager  to  be  up  and  at  it  again.  They 
worked  and  dared  for  something  more  than 
wages.  They  manifested  intense  pride  and 
loyalty.  It  was  their  ambition  to  "stay  with 
the  job."  Their  talk  was  mostly  of  progress 
made,  of  new  records  set.  Their  spirit  thrilled 
Walter,  it  was  so  fine  and  clean  and  worthy  of 
the  flag  they  served. 

After  three  days  the  surgeon  examined  him 
carefully,  and  announced: 

"You  are  fit  to  leave  us,  but  you  must  take 
it  easy.  And  that  arm  should  be  looked  after. 
What  are  your  plans?" 

"I  haven't  any.  I  am  not  a  canal  employee, 
so  I  suppose  I  can't  go  to  a  commission  hotel." 

"Naughton  or  Devlin  will  be  here  to  see  you 
again,"  said  the  surgeon.  "Why  not  bunk  with 
me  for  a  few  days?  I  am  in  bachelor  quarters. 
You  don't  want  to  wait  around  in  one  of  those 
Panama  hotels.  They  are  fierce." 

Walter  thought  of  the  vengeful  General 
Quesada  and  had  no  desire,  in  his  disabled  con- 
dition, to  linger  in  the  city  of  Panama,  beyond 
the  Canal  Zone.  He  gratefully  accepted  the 
surgeon's  invitation  and  added: 

84 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

"I  should  like  to  go  out  this  afternoon  and 
see  something  of  Ancon." 

"Very  well.  It  will  brace  you  up  to  get  out- 
doors. If  you  want  the  good  salt  wind,  why 
don't  you  run  over  to  Balboa  docks?  It  is  only 
a  trifling  journey  by  train.  And  you  can  see 
the  Pacific  end  of  the  canal.  It's  a  busy 
place." 

The  railroad  station  was  no  more  than  a  few 
minutes'  walk  down  the  hill  from  the  hospital, 
and  Walter,  footed  it  slowly,  feeling  weak  and 
listless.  He  enjoyed  the  brief  trip  to  Balboa 
and  his  first  glimpse  of  the  shipping  of  the 
Pacific.  The  wharves  were  American,  but  the 
high-sided  steamers  crowded  bow  and  stern 
were  bound  to  strange,  romantic  ports,  to 
Guayaquil  and  Valparaiso  and  around  the 
Horn,  to  Mazatlan  and  Acapulco, 

Picking  his  way  among  the  jostling,  noisy 
gangs  of  black  laborers,  Walter  perched  him- 
self upon  a  bale  of  merchandise  under  the  long 
cargo  shed.  The  wharf  was  not  large  enough 
for  its  traffic.  Freight  of  every  description 
covered  it.  Tally  clerks,  checkers,  and  fore- 
men were  at  their  wits'  ends  to  keep  the  streams 

85 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

of  boxes,  barrels,  and  crates  moving  with  order 
and  system. 

At  one  berth  a  Pacific  mail-boat  from  San 
Francisco  was  discharging  supplies  for  the 
Canal  Commission.  Just  beyond  her,  one  of 
the  Chilean  Navigation  Company's  fleet  was 
filling  her  holds  for  the  long  voyage  down  the 
west  coast.  Against  her  seaward  side,  as  if 
waiting  for  room  at  the  wharf,  was  moored  a 
rusty  little  coastwise  steamer  flying  the  flag  of 
the  Panama  Republic. 

During  a  summer  vacation  from  high-school, 
Walter  had  worked  in  the  shipping-rooms  of  the 
Wolverton  Mills.  He  knew  something  about 
this  activity  on  the  wharf.  He  thought  himself 
capable  of  tallying  freight  and  sorting  con- 
signments. Sharp-eyed  and  interested,  he 
watched  the  hurly-burly  of  hard-driven  indus- 
try. Presently  he  noticed  something  which 
awoke  his  curiosity.  It  seemed  extremely  odd. 

The  freight  trundled  out  of  the  Pacific  mail- 
boat  was  piled  compactly  between  two  narrow 
aisles  or  runways  on  the  wharf,  convenient  for 
transfer  to  the  freight-cars  of  the  Panama  Rail- 
road. Walter  noted  the  marks  on  the  boxes, 
86 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

because  most  of  the  stuff  was  consigned  to  the 
"Dept.  of  Commissary  and  Subsistence,"  and 
he  was  thereby  reminded  of  Major  Glendinning. 

Separated  from  this  great  heap  of  merchan- 
dise only  by  a  runway  was  the  freight  that  was 
being  rushed  into  the  outward-bound  Chilean 
steamer.  A  negro  halted  his  truck  between  the 
two  piles  and  loaded  it  with  cases  marked  for 
Major  Glendinning's  department.  Then  he 
went  clattering  at  full  speed  to  the  gangway  of 
the  Chilean  steamer. 

Evidently  the  thick-witted  laborer  had  made 
a  blunder,  thought  Walter.  He  had  loaded  his 
truck  at  the  wrong  side  of  the  runway.  At  the 
gangway  of  the  South  American  vessel  was 
stationed  a  "checker,"  one  of  the  white  em- 
ployees of  the  Zone,  whose  business  was  to  dis- 
cover just  such  mistakes  as  this.  Walter  saw 
him  halt  the  truck,  glance  at  the  marks  on  the 
boxes,  and  then  shove  the  negro  along  into  the 
ship  instead  of  turning  him  back  to  the  wharf. 

Walter  did  some  rapid  thinking.  He  was 
enough  of  a  shipping-clerk  to  surmise  that  some- 
thing was  wrong.  It  might  have  been  careless- 
ness, but  he  eyed  the  checker  suspiciously.  He 

87 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

was  a  long,  stooping  young  man  with  rather 
pallid,  sullen  features,  and  he  conveyed  an  im- 
pression of  slouchiness  and  dissipation  quite 
unlike  the  clean-cut  type  of  the  average  Amer- 
ican in  the  Zone. 

Walter  disliked  him.  Perhaps  this  was  why 
he  was  unwilling  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt. 

The  checker  forsook  the  gangway,  hurried 
into  the  runway  where  the  truckmen  were  pass- 
ing in  procession  and  gave  them  an  order, 
roughly,  with  a  gesture  which  carried  a  mean- 
ing to  the  vigilant  Walter.  They  were  told  to 
continue  shoving  the  merchandise  consigned  to 
Major  Glendinning's  department  into  the  Chil- 
ean steamer.  They  viewed  any  white  man  as 
a  "boss"  to  be  obeyed.  Unable  to  read  the 
marks,  they  did  as  they  were  ordered,  without 
hesitation. 

The  checker  ran  back  to  the  gangway,  where 
he  made  pretence  of  examining  each  arriving 
truck-load  and  passing  it  as  O.K.  Walter  was 
convinced  that  he  had  stumbled  on  a  flagrantly 
crooked  transaction.  It  looked  barefaced  and 
bold,  but  it  was  actually  much  less  so  than  ap- 

88 


A  LANDSLIDE  IN  THE  CUT 

peared.  In  the  rush  and  confusion  of  the  wharf, 
one  dishonest  checker  could  engineer  the  busi- 
ness with  small  risk  of  official  detection.  The 
merchandise  would  be  missed  later,  but  what 
proof  was  there  that  it  had  been  slipped  aboard 
the  Chilean  steamer? 

"It  was  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  I  hap- 
pened to  see  it,"  said  Walter  to  himself.  "I'm 
sure  the  checker  is  a  rascal,  but  there  must  be 
others  in  it,  or  how  can  the  stolen  goods  be  re- 
ceived and  disposed  of  at  the  other  end  of  the 
voyage?" 

He  forsook  his  place  of  observation  and 
moved  cautiously  nearer  the  Chilean  steamer, 
screened  from  the  observation  of  the  checker 
by  a  huge  crate  of  machinery.  There  he  dis- 
covered, to  his  great  surprise,  that  the  trucks 
loaded  with  pilfered  merchandise  were  being 
wheeled  across  the  lower  deck,  through  the 
open  cargo  port  on  the  other  side,  and  into  the 
small  Panamanian  coaster  tied  up  to  the  larger 
steamer. 

This  altered  the  circumstances.  Very  likely 
the  Chilean  officers  and  crew  knew  nothing 
about  the  shady  business.  The  Panamanian 
89 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

craft  might  have  been  courteously  permitted  to 
take  on  part  of  her  cargo  by  transferring  it 
across  the  intervening  deck. 

Walter  tingled  with  excitement.  The  checker 
must  have  an  understanding  with  the  captain 
or  owner,  or  both,  of  the  disreputable-looking 
little  steamer  hailing  from  Panama.  Her  des- 
tination could  not  be  far  distant.  She  could  be 
overhauled  at  short  notice.  Instead  of  inform- 
ing the  American  officials  at  Balboa,  Walter 
swiftly  decided  to  try  to  unravel  the  plot  by  him- 
self. It  would  show  them  that  he  was  good  for 
something  besides  base-ball.  And  it  might  mean 
solid  recognition.  But  there  was  something 
bigger  than  his  own  interests  at  stake.  The 
spirit  of  the  Canal  Zone  had  taken  hold  of  him. 
He  knew  that  "graft"  had  been  kept  out  of  the 
organization.  To  have  the  fair  record  blotted, 
even  in  the  smallest  way,  was  hateful  to  him. 
He  was  as  jealous  of  the  honor  of  the  "Big 
Ditch"  as  Colonel  Gunther  himself. 


90 


CHAPTER  V 

TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

WHILE  Walter  Goodwin  was  watching  and 
waiting  on  the  wharf  the  checker  at  the 
gangway  suddenly  became  wary.  He  stormed 
among  the  laborers  and  abused  them  for  blun- 
dering, turning  them  back  with  their  truck-loads 
of  commissary  stores  and  otherwise  imitating  a 
man  honestly  doing  his  duty.  Walter  was  un- 
certain whether  the  checker  had  spied  him  and 
taken  alarm,  or  whether  some  one  in  authority 
had  moved  inconveniently  near. 

The  little  Panama  steamer  into  which  the 
stolen  merchandise  had  been  conveyed  was 
making  ready  to  cast  loose  and  haul  out  into 
the  stream.  Walter  feared  she  was  about  to 
sail  and  carry  with  her  all  his  hopes  of  distin- 
guishing himself  as  an  investigator.  He  was 
elated,  therefore,  when  a  man  of  whom  he  had 
caught  a  glimpse  on  the  vessel's  bridge  came  on 
the  wharf  and  halted  to  speak  to  the  checker. 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

The  twain  were  together  for  several  minutes. 
Walter  had  time  to  study  the  new-comer. 

He  was  no  longer  young,  bearing  marks  of 
hard  living,  but  of  an  alert,  resolute  mien  and 
rugged  frame.  He  was  a  German,  perhaps, 
certainly  not  a  Spanish-American.  He  re- 
sembled not  so  much  a  seafarer  as  one  of  those 
broken  soldiers  of  fortune,  grown  gray  in  ad- 
ventures, to  be  found  in  ports  of  the  uneasy 
republics  near  the  equator,  ripe  for  bold  and 
unscrupulous  enterprises  and  ready  to  serve 
any  master. 

These  two  were  birds  of  a  feather,  thought 
Walter,  and  he  must  somehow  find  out  why  they 
flocked  together.  Guesses  were  not  proof.  He 
could  follow  the  checker  after  the  day's  work 
was  done  and  try  to  discover  where  he  went  and 
whom  he  met. 

Presently  the  older  man  returned  to  the 
steamer.  Then  Walter's  train  of  thought  was 
derailed  by  a  cordial  voice  and  outstretched 
hand  which  belonged  to  his  shipmate  of  the 
Saragossa,  Senor  Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro. 

"I  have  been  to  the  hospital  to  see  you,  my 
dear  friend,"  cried  the  Colombian  diplomat.  "  I 
92 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

read  it  in  a  newspaper  that  you  had  a  fight  with 
a  landslide.  Ah,  you  are  as  strong  as  a  brick 
house  to  be  out  so  soon.  The  arm?  Alas,  is  it 
serious?" 

"It  will  cripple  me  for  base-ball  for  a  while." 

"Ah,  you  plucky  Yankees!  You  are  always 
thinking  of  your  grand  sport  of  base-ball." 

"I  thought  you  had  sailed  for  home,"  said 
Walter. 

"My  steamer  had  a  break-down  of  her  en- 
gines. She  has  not  yet  arrived  from  the  south. 
My  father  has  arranged  by  cable  to  have  the 
Chilean  ship  touch  at  my  port  on  her  voyage  to 
Valparaiso.  She  sails  in  three  days  more.  I 
have  come  to  Balboa  to  see  the  captain.  Will 
you  go  on  board  with  me?" 

They  climbed  to  the  upper  deck  and  while 
Alfaro  did  his  errand,  Walter  leaned  overside 
and  gazed  down  at  the  small  Panamanian 
steamer,  whose  name  he  discovered  to  be  Juan 
Lopez.  She  was  a  dirty,  disorderly  vessel,  and 
the  crew,  of  all  shades  from  black  to  white, 
looked  as  if  some  of  them  might  be  hanged  before 
they  were  drowned. 

No  cargo  was  strewn  about.  Everything 
93 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

fetched  from  the  wharf  had  been  instantly  hid- 
den under  the  hatches.  The  man  who  had  con- 
ferred with  the  checker  came  out  of  the  cabin, 
glanced  up,  halted,  and  stared  hard  at  Walter. 
When  Alfaro  returned,  he  asked  him  excitedly: 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  this  Juan 
Lopez  steamer  alongside?  And  have  you  ever 
seen  that  man  with  the  gray  mustache  before?" 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  of  the  Juan  Lopez.  She 
made  trouble  on  the  coast  of  Colombia  one  time. 
It  was  a  filibustering  expedition,  but  they  were 
not  able  to  make  a  landing.  That  man?  It 
is  Captain  Brincker.  I  was  in  Guayaquil  when 
he  got  into  some  kind  of  a  row  with  the  govern- 
ment. Why  do  you  ask  with  so  much  interest, 
Goodwin?" 

"Oh,  I  was  just  curious,"  said  Walter,  un- 
willing to  confide  in  the  talkative,  impulsive 
Colombian.  "I  suppose  the  Juan  Lopez  has 
reformed,  or  she  would  not  be  loading  freight 
at  Balboa." 

"She  is  maybe  trading  on  the  Panama  coast 
and  up  the  rivers.  Will  you  come  back  to  Ancon 
with  me  and  dine  at  the  Tivoli  Hotel  to-night?" 

"Thank  you,  but  I  can't  promise  for  sure,'' 
94 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

said  Walter.  "I  have  some  business  on  the 
wharf.  Will  it  be  all  right  if  I  telephone  you 
by  seven  o'clock?" 

"Certainly,"  exclaimed  Alfaro.  Curious  in 
his  turn,  he  asked:  "Is  your  office  on  the 
wharf?" 

"It  is  under  my  hat  at  present,"  smiled  Wal- 
ter. "Does  this  Captain  Brincker  live  in  Pan- 
ama?" 

"I  will  ask  my  friends  in  the  city  and  tell  you 
all  about  him  at  dinner.  I  think  he  is  a  hard 
customer." 

"I  have  reasons  for  keeping  an  eye  on  him, 
so  I'll  be  grateful  for  any  information,"  said 
Walter. 

The  Colombian  was  in  haste  to  keep  an  en- 
gagement, and  he  left  Walter  impatiently  await- 
ing the  next  turn  of  events.  The  Juan  Lopez 
moved  away  from  the  side  of  the  Chilean 
steamer  and  anchored  far  out  in  the  bay. 
Shortly  thereafter  a  small  boat  was  sent 
ashore.  It  landed  near  the  wharf  and  Captain 
Brincker  disembarked.  He  walked  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  railroad  station. 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  checker  left  the  gang- 
95 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

way  and  also  headed  for  the  station.  Walter 
followed  them  into  a  train  for  Ancon,  but  they 
did  not  sit  together,  and  paid  no  attention  to 
each  other.  This  was  unexpected.  When  they 
left  the  train,  the  slouchy,  ill-favored  young 
man  climbed  into  a  cab,  while  the  grizzled  sol- 
dier of  fortune  sturdily  set  out  on  foot  into  Pan- 
ama city. 

Walter  had  fought  shy  of  invading  Panama- 
nian territory  because  of  General  Quesada  and 
the  native  police,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  quit 
the  chase.  He  straightway  chartered  a  cab  and 
made  the  Spanish-speaking  cochero  understand 
that  he  was  to  follow  the  chariot  aforesaid. 
The  weary,  overworked  little  horses  jogged 
slowly  through  the  picturesque  streets  of  bal- 
conied stone  houses  and  mouldering  churches 
and  ramparts  recalling  the  storied  age  of  the 
Conquistador es.  Old  Panama  and  the  Canal 
Zone,  side  by  side,  vividly  contrasted  the  ro- 
mantic past  and  the  practical,  hustling  present. 

The  cab  of  the  checker  passed  the  plaza  with 
its  palms  and  flowers,  and  made  toward  the 
city  water-front.  The  narrow  streets  framed 
bright  glimpses  of  the  blue  Bay  of  Panama.  At 

96 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

length  Walter  bade  his  cochero  halt.  The 
slouchy  young  man  whom  he  was  pursuing  had 
dismissed  his  vehicle  and  was  entering  a  large 
weather-worn  house  of  stucco,  one  of  a  solid 
block  in  a  little  thoroughfare  close  to  the 
crumbling  sea-wall. 

"It  is  my  business  to  find  out  who  lives 
there,"  reflected  Walter.  "I'm  sure  that 
Americans  from  the  Canal  Zone  are  unlikely  to 
have  honest  errands  in  this  corner  of  Panama." 

He  forsook  his  cab  and  walked  slowly  along 
the  street.  The  row  of  houses  resembled  an 
extended  wall  of  stone  pierced  by  windows  and 
doors.  It  was  puzzling  to  make  certain  into 
which  of  them  the  suspected  young  man  had 
gone.  Walter  counted  the  doors  from  the 
corner  to  verify  his  observation  and  paused  to 
scan  the  entrance,  hoping  to  find  a  street  num- 
ber or  name-plate. 

He  might  ask  questions  of  a  policeman,  but 
this  was  impracticable  for  three  reasons:  first, 
he  could  not  speak  Spanish;  second,  he  had  no 
fondness  for  Panama  policemen;  third,  there 
was  no  policeman  to  be  found.  Feeling  rather 
foolish,  he  waylaid  a  barefooted  boy  and  fished 

97 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

for  information  with  earnest  gestures,  but  the 
youngster  shook  his  head  and  fled  into  the  near- 
est alley. 

"I  should  have  brought  Alfaro  with  me," 
sighed  Walter.  "I  am  as  helpless  as  a  stranded 
fish.  These  people  ought  to  be  compelled  to 
learn  English." 

Still  standing  in  front  of  the  house  and  wear- 
ing an  absent-minded,  worried  manner,  Walter 
had  forgotten  for  the  moment  that  he  was 
playing  a  game  which  required  wit  and  vigil- 
ance. From  around  the  nearest  corner,  no  more 
than  a  few  yards  away,  appeared  the  robust 
figure  of  Captain  Brincker.  At  sight  of  the 
youth  with  the  bandaged  arm,  he  stopped  in 
his  tracks,  muttered  something,  and  gazed  with 
open  unfriendliness. 

Intuition  told  Walter  that  this  formidable 
man  had  better  be  avoided.  He  felt  like  taking 
to  his  heels,  but  he  was  boyishly  reluctant  to 
show  the  white  feather.  Undecided,  he  failed  to 
retreat  until  it  was  too  late. 

Captain  Brincker  advanced  swiftly,  con- 
fronted him,  and  asked  in  a  heavy  voice: 

"Were  you  looking  for  somebody?" 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  need  him  just  now,"  stam- 
mered Walter,  trying  to  brazen  it  out.  "An- 
other time  will  do  just  as  well,  thank  you.  I 
must  be  going." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  growled  the  soldier  of  fort- 
une, and  he  grasped  Walter's  left  arm  with  a 
grip  of  iron.  "I  have  seen  you  at  Balboa  this 
afternoon,  on  the  wharf,  on  the  Chilean  steamer, 
on  the  train.  Are  you  not  old  enough  to  mind 
your  own  business?" 

Not  yet  recovered  from  the  battering  effects 
of  the  landslide,  Walter  lacked  his  normal 
strength  and  agility,  and  his  disabled  arm  made 
him  as  helpless  as  a  child.  He  dared  not  try 
to  wrench  himself  free  lest  it  be  injured  afresh 
in  the  tussle. 

"You  can't  scare  me  with  your  bluffs,"  he 
angrily  retorted.  "What  right  have  you  to  ask 
my  business?" 

"We  will  discuss  that.  And  if  you  are  not 
willing  to  talk,  I  may  have  to  hold  you  by  the 
right  arm." 

Walter  winced  at  this  and  looked  up  and  down 
the  street.  Brown,  naked  children  were  play- 
ing in  the  gutters.  Fighting-cocks  were  tethered 

99 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

to  the  iron  railing  in  front  of  a  near-by  dwelling. 
A  black-haired  young  man  with  a  chocolate- 
drop  complexion,  lounging  on  a  balcony,  lazily 
thrummed  a  guitar.  Strolling  pedlers  cried 
their  wares  with  rude  snatches  of  song.  The 
voices  of  fishermen  came  from  the  beach  by  the 
sea-wall.  The  place  was  wholly  foreign,  un- 
frequented by  Americans.  The  Canal  Zone 
and  its  protecting  power  might  have  been  a 
thousand  miles  away.  The  passers-by  would 
be  pleased  to  see  Walter  worsted  in  a  scuffle. 
His  affairs  concerned  them  not  in  the  least. 
It  was  futile  to  call  for  help.  He  had  been  rash 
and  stupid. 

"What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me?"  he  de- 
manded, trying  to  keep  his  voice  under  control. 

"It  is  not  hospitable  to  make  you  stand  in 
the  street,"  and  Captain  Brincker  smiled  grimly. 
"Come  inside  with  me." 

As  he  spoke  he  twisted  Walter  violently  about 
and  shoved  him  into  the  vestibule  of  the  house, 
which  was  only  a  step  from  the  street.  Jerking 
himself  free  in  blind  rage,  Walter  struck  at  his 
captor,  who  dodged  and  slammed  shut  the 
heavy  outer  door  behind  them.  It  was  like 

100 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

being  in  a  prison.    Walter  moved  aside,  trying 
to  guard  the  injured  arm. 

"You  are  excited.  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
brutal,"  said  Captain  Brincker.  "You  are  very 
easy  to  handle.  You  will  be  foolish  if  you 
object." 

He  showed  the  way  with  a  courteous  gesture. 
A  long  hallway  led  to  the  patio  or  open  court 
in  the  centre  of  the  house.  .It  was  like  a  tropical 
garden  roofed  by  the  sky.  Gorgeous  flowers 
bloomed,  and  a  fountain  tinkled  pleasantly. 
Walter  followed  in  glum  silence.  He  had  been 
caught  like  a  rabbit.  Frightened  as  he  was,  the 
fact  that  he  belonged  to  the  race  dominant  on 
the  Isthmus  helped  to  steady  him.  He  felt  that 
he  must  play  the  game  to  the  finish  without 
flinching.  He  held  himself  erect,  his  chin  up. 

Captain  Brincker  offered  a  wicker  chair  and 
seated  himself  in  another.  Then  he  scruti- 
nized his  unwilling  guest  with  grave  delibera- 
tion. His  face  was  rather  questioning  than 
hostile.  The  suspense  made  Walter's  heart 
flutter.  The  masterful  personality  of  the  sol- 
dier of  fortune  held  him  silent.  At  length  Cap- 
tain Brincker  said: 

101 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"You  were  watching  the  young  man  at  the 
gangway.  You  wanted  to  know  all  about  me 
and  the  Juan  Lopez.  You  were  overheard 
talking  to  Seiior  Alfaro.  You  followed  the 
young  man  to  this  house.  I  want  to  know  who 
is  employing  you  to  do  all  this." 

The  quiet  demeanor  of  the  speaker  helped 
Walter  to  regain  his  self-confidence.  If  he  could 
keep  his  head  he  might  be  able  to  extricate  him- 
self. 

"Nobody  employed  me.  I  had  nothing 
better  to  do,"  he  truthfully  replied.  "Aren't 
you  taking  a  lot  for  granted?  I  am  just  out  of 
the  hospital  and  looking  for  a  job.  I  don't  look 
like  a  very  dangerous  person,  do  I?" 

"That  depends,"  slowly  spoke  Captain 
Brincker.  "You  may  be  merely  meddlesome. 
Do  you  want  to  go  home  to  the  States? 
The  passage  can  be  arranged,  and  some  extra 
money  for  your  pocket.  There  is  a  condi- 
tion  " 

"That  I  keep  my  mouth  shut,"  hotly  re- 
torted Walter.  He  turned  very  red.  His 
temper  got  the  better  of  him.  He  was  not  old 
enough  and  wise  enough  to  fence  with  such  a 
102 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

situation  as  this.  With  reckless,  headlong 
candor,  he  burst  out: 

"You  are  offering  me  hush  money.  It's  a 
crooked,  dirty  proposition.  And  I  won't  stand 
for  it.  I  know  you  were  in  the  scheme  to 
steal  commissary  stores  from  the  wharf " 

Walter  checked  himself,  aghast  that  he  should 
have  said  so  much  and  thereby  delivered  him- 
self into  the  enemy's  hands.  The  effect  of  this 
speech  upon  Captain  Brincker  was  extraor- 
dinary. He  pulled  at  the  ends  of  his  gray  mus- 
tache as  if  greatly  perplexed,  winked  rapidly, 
and  stared  with  an  air  of  blank  amazement: 

"Steal  the  commissary  stores?"  he  echoed. 
"I  have  been  called  many  hard  names,  young 
man,  but  I  plead  not  guilty  this  time.  Now 
that  you  have  begun,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
let  the  cat  all  the  way  out  of  the  bag?" 

It  was  Walter's  turn  to  feel  bewildered. 
Captain  Brincker 's  denial  carried  conviction. 
It  impressed  Walter  as  genuine.  Perhaps  his 
conjecture  had  been  wrong.  At  any  rate,  the 
checker  was  guilty,  and  why  had  the  two  of 
them  come  straight  to  this  house  from  Balboa? 

"I  suppose  I'm  in  serious  trouble  now," 
103 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

stubbornly  answered  Walter,  "but  I  won't  take 
back  what  I  said.  The  Juan  Lopez  has  a  lot 
of  freight  on  board  that  doesn't  belong  there, 
and  I  intend  to  find  out  all  about  it." 

Captain  Brincker  leaned  forward  in  his  chair, 
his  strong,  brown  hands  resting  upon  his  knees, 
his  keen  eyes  almost  mirthful. 

"You  are  frank  with  me,"  said  he.  "We  are 
at  cross-purposes,  you  and  I.  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  as  a  soldier  that  I  know  nothing 
whatever  about  this  stolen  freight.  It  is  safe 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  because  I  cannot  let  you 
go  free  until  after  the  Juan  Lopez  sails.  I  am 
not  her  captain.  I  am  in  charge  of  the  expedi- 
tion. There  may  be  a  change  of  government 
in  San  Salvador  very  soon.  Perhaps  I  shall 
assist.  The  plans  are  in  the  hands  of  my  em- 
ployer, in  whose  house  you  have  the  honor  to 
be." 

"Then  it  is  a  filibustering  expedition,"  cried 
Walter,  all  interest  and  animation.  "And  you 
are  going  to  mix  up  in  another  revolution? 
Whew,  but  I  wish  you  would  take  me  with 
you." 

"With  your  arm  in  a  sling?  Besides,  my  em- 
104 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

ployer  detests  Americans.  Do  you  believe  I 
am  telling  the  truth?" 

"It  sounds  that  way,"  confessed  Walter. 
"But  what  about  that  checker?  He  must  be 
in  the  house  right  now." 

With  a  shrug,  Captain  Brincker  explained: 

"He  comes  to  see  my  employer.  It  is  not 
my  affair.  I  have  had  no  words  with  the  young 
man  except  this  afternoon  at  the  wharf.  I  was 
instructed  to  see  that  certain  supplies  were 
taken  on  board.  I  asked  him  about  them.  I 
did  not  look  at  the  stuff.  It  was  his  business 
to  check  it  up." 

It  was  quite  obvious  that  Captain  Brincker 
was  anxious  to  clear  himself  in  the  eyes  of  this 
honest,  ingenuous  accuser.  He  may  have  com- 
mitted many  a  greater  crime  against  the  law,  but 
he  disliked  being  thought  a  commonplace  thief. 

Tempted  by  the  amicable  drift  of  the  inter- 
view, Walter  ventured  a  dangerous  question: 

"Your  employer — who  is  he?" 

Captain  Brincker  scowled.  This  was  tread- 
ing on  forbidden  ground.  He  may  have  been 
inwardly  disgusted  that  the  man  he  served 
should  have  stooped  so  low  as  to  pilfer  supplies 
105 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

for  the  expedition,  but  the  matter  was  not  for 
him  to  meddle  with.  He  had  an  odd  code  of 
loyalty,  a  sadly  twisted  sense  of  honor,  but  such 
as  they  were  he  was  stanch  to  them.  He  would 
not  break  with  the  man  who  had  bought  his 
sword  and  his  services. 

"My  employer?"  said  he.  "That  is  not  for 
me  to  tell  you.  I  shall  have  to  lock  you  up 
for  the  present.  It  would  be  most  unfortunate 
to  have  the  expedition  of  the  Juan  Lopez  spoiled 
by  the  tongue  of  a  meddlesome  boy.  The 
American  government  would  seize  the  ship  and 
arrest  all  hands  if  the  news  leaked  out.  You 
know  too  much  to  be  at  liberty." 

Oddly  enough,  Walter  made  no  protest,  nor 
was  he  any  longer  angry.  He  perceived  that 
he  had  blundered  into  one  affair  while  he  was 
on  the  trail  of  another.  Captain  Brincker  had 
been  honest  with  him,  discussing  the  situation 
as  man  to  man,  and  he  was  justified  in  guarding 
the  secrecy  of  his  adventurous  enterprise  against 
discovery  by  the  authorities.  The  alarming 
possibility  was  that  he  might  think  it  his  duty 
to  inform  his  employer  of  Walter's  knowledge 
concerning  the  stolen  merchandise. 
106 


TRAPPED   IN  OLD  PANAMA 

"Are  you  going  to  report  what  I  found  out — 
that  the  commissary  stores  were  smuggled  on 
board  the  Juan  Lopez  ? "  asked  Walter. 

Before  Captain  Brincker  could  answer,  there 
came  from  behind  the  palms  at  the  other  side 
of  the  patio  the  screeching  voice  of  a  parrot: 

"  Viva  Panama.    Pobre  Colombia.    Ha  I  Ha  ! 


Walter  jumped  from  his  chair.  His  cheek 
was  quite  pale.  He  had  heard  this  parrot 
before.  It  belonged  to  General  Quesada,  who 
must  be  the  mysterious  employer.  Standing 
in  a  door-way  opening  from  another  part  of  the 
house  was  the  gross,  shapeless  figure  of  General 
Quesada  himself,  the  parrot  cage  hi  his  hand. 
With  him  was  the  slouchy  young  man  from 
Balboa  wharf.  Before  crossing  the  patio  they 
had  halted  in  time  to  hear  Walter's  unfortunate 
question. 

The  checker  repeated  it  in  Spanish,  and  Gen- 
eral Quesada  comprehended  that  the  young 
seaman  of  the  Saragossa  who  hammered  him 
with  a  broom-stick  had  now  discovered  the  plot 
to  rob  the  American  government  of  supplies 
for  the  filibustering  expedition. 
107 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

The  Panamanian  glared  wickedly  at  Walter 
and  bellowed  in  Spanish  a  volley  of  questions 
aimed  at  Captain  Brincker.  The  latter  an- 
swered reluctantly.  The  scene  was  evidently 
distasteful  to  him.  It  was  in  his  mind  to  temper 
the  storm  of  wrath  and  hatred.  But  General 
Quesada  knew  that  he  had  been  found  out. 
The  checker,  snarling  and  vindictive,  was  rap- 
idly explaining  that  Walter  had  been  spying 
at  the  wharf  and  on  the  train,  and  had  followed 
him  into  Panama.  Captain  Brincker  turned  to 
the  hapless  Walter  and  said  with  a  shrug: 

"It  is  a  worse  fix  for  you  than  I  thought. 
General  Quesada  has  a  terrible  hatred  for  you 
because  you  struck  him  and  disgraced  him  on 
the  ship  from  New  York.  I  had  not  heard 
of  it  until  now.  And  he  knows  that  you 
know  too  much  about  the  business  at  the 
wharf." 

"Why  don't  you  help  me  get  out  of  the 
house?"  implored  Walter.  "You  don't  seem 
like  a  coward.  He  looks  as  if  he  wanted  to 
murder  me.  I  can't  put  up  a  fight.  I  am 
crippled." 

The  soldier  of  fortune  looked  confused  and 
108 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

ashamed.  He  had  never  earned  his  wages  more 
unpleasantly,  but  he  made  no  aggressive  move- 
ment. Remembering  his  errand,  General  Que- 
sada  waddled  across  the  patio  into  the  hallway 
and  dismissed  the  checker.  The  street  door 
slammed  shut  with  a  rattle  of  bolts. 

"What  did  he  say  he  was  going  to  do  with 
me?"  Walter  besought  Captain  Brincker. 

"He  seems  very  much  pleased  to  get  hold  of 
you.  I  will  try  to  cool  his  anger." 

General  Quesada  returned,  grunting  and 
swearing  to  himself.  After  hanging  the  pre- 
cious parrot  cage  in  a  tree,  he  dropped  heavily 
into  a  wicker  chair  and  sat  staring  at  Walter 
with  the  most  malicious  satisfaction.  Occa- 
sionally he  chuckled  as  if  here  was  a  jest  very 
much  to  his  liking.  Walter  yearned  for  his 
broom-handle.  He  looked  about  for  something 
which  might  serve  as  a  weapon.  Regardless  of 
consequences,  he  would  put  his  mark  on  the 
fat,  ugly  countenance  once  more. 

General  Quesada  read  his  purpose  and  gave 
an  order  to  Captain  Brincker.  The  two  cap- 
tors roughly  hustled  Walter  into  a  large,  empty 
room  overlooking  the  bay,  and  so  close  to  the 
109 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

water  that  the  flooding  tide  could  be  heard 
lapping  against  the  foundation  walls. 

"You  just  wait  until  my  government  hears 
of  this  performance,"  cried  Walter.  "  General 
Quesada  will  be  chucked  in  jail,  where  he  be- 
longs." 

Captain  Brincker  replied  in  kindly  tones: 

"Take  my  advice  and  do  what  you  are  told. 
It  is  the  best  policy." 

Left  alone,  Walter  tried  to  persuade  himself 
that  no  serious  'danger  could  menace  him.  The 
Isthmus  was  almost  a  part  of  the  United  States, 
and  he  was  no  more  than  a  few  minutes'  drive 
from  the  Canal  Zone,  and  the  protection  of 
his  own  people.  General  Quesada  wished  to 
frighten  him  into  silence. 

Walter  went  to  one  of  the  long  windows, 
which  was  barred  against  harbor  thieves  by 
ornamental  iron  grillwork.  Misty  and  golden 
in  the  effulgence  of  sunset  lay  the  fishing-boats, 
the  wide  bay,  the  scattered  islands,  and  the 
steamers  anchored  off  the  quarantine  station. 
The  brief  tropical  twilight  fled,  and  the  night 
came  down. 

After  a  long  while  a  boat  scraped  against  the 
no 


TRAPPED  IN  OLD  PANAMA 

sea-wall.  He  could  discern  it  as  a  slow-moving 
shadow.  Voices  murmured  in  Spanish,  an  order 
was  sharply  uttered,  and  an  oar  rattled  against 
the  masonry.  It  did  not  occur  to  Walter  that 
the  coming  of  the  boat  had  anything  to  do  with 
him.  He  supposed  that  a  crew  of  fishermen 
was  making  a  belated  landing. 


in 


CHAPTER  VI 

JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

SENOR  FERNANDEZ  GARCIA  ALFARO  waited  in 
the  lobby  of  the  Tivoli  Hotel  at  Ancon  until 
considerably  after  seven  o'clock  and  no  tele- 
phone message  had  come  from  his  friend  Walter 
Goodwin.  Disappointed  at  having  to  dine 
alone,  the  Colombian  diplomat  wandered  to 
the  desk  and  again  asked  a  clerk  to  make  sure 
that  no  tidings  had  been  sent  him.  He  was 
possessed  of  an  uneasy  feeling  that  something 
might  be  wrong.  He  had  not  found  time  to 
make  inquiries  concerning  Captain  Brincker, 
but  he  wished  Walter  had  not  been  so  inter- 
ested in  keeping  track  of  that  hardened  advent- 
urer. Intrigue  and  mystery  are  native  to  the 
air  of  Spanish-American  countries.  One  sus- 
pects whatever  he  does  not  understand. 

Finally  Alfaro  drifted  into  the  dining-room 
of  this  excellent  hotel,  conducted  by  the  paternal 
government  of  the  Zone,  where  people  meet 

112 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

from  all  corners  of  the  world.  Soon  there 
entered  a  dapper,  black-eyed  young  dandy  in 
evening  clothes  of  white  serge,  whom  Alfaro 
recognized  as  a  partner  of  a  shipping-firm  in 
Panama,  and  an  old  acquaintance  of  his. 
Beckoning  him  to  his  own  table,  the  Colombian 
warmly  exclaimed: 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure,  Antonio.  Where 
have  you  been?  I  have  suffered  a  thousand 
disappointments  not  to  find  you." 

"Business  took  me  to  Costa  Rica  for  two 
weeks,"  replied  the  other.  "Are  you  now  going 
home  or  are  you  returning?" 

"  I  go  to  see  my  father  and  mother,  Antonio. 
I  have  been  waiting  for  an  American  friend  to 
dine  with  me.  He  has  not  arrived.  I  am  anx- 
ious. You  know  everything  that  goes  on  in 
Panama.  Tell  me,  what  is  Captain  Brincker 
doing  here?  You  are  aware  of  him,  of  course." 

"Who  is  not?  He  is  a  famous  character. 
Before  I  went  to  Costa  Rica  the  story  was  going 
around  that  his  fortunes  had  picked  up.  He 
has  been  down  at  the  heel  for  some  time,  you 
know,  loafing  in  Panama." 

"There  is  to  be  a  revolution  somewhere?" 
"3 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Politics  are  very  much  upset  in  San  Sal- 
vador. Who  knows?  By  the  way,  my  firm  has 
just  sold  the  old  Juan  Lopez.  We  were  glad  to 
get  her  off  our  hands,  I  tell  you,  before  she 
sunk  at  her  moorings.  A  wretched  tin  pot  of  a 
steamer!  You  are  interested,  because  she  one 
time  figured  in  Colombian  affairs." 

"Who  purchased  the  Juan  Lopez?"  asked 
Alfaro.  "I  saw  her  loading  at  Balboa  to-day, 
and  Captain  Brincker  was  on  board." 

"The  new  owner  is  General  Quesada.  I  wish 
the  fat  rascal  no  good  luck  with  her." 

"The  owner  is  General  Quesada?"  loudly 
exclaimed  Alfaro.  "  I  am  startled.  And  what 
does  Captain  Brincker  do  on  board?" 

"He  is  in  the  service  of  General  Quesada,  so  I 
am  told.  You  may  put  two  and  two  together, 
if  you  like.  I  have  learned  to  mind  my  own 
affairs  in  the  shipping  business  of  Panama. 
Perhaps  General  Quesada  imagines  himself  to 
be  the  next  president  of  San  Salvador.  He 
does  not  buy  a  steamer  and  hire  a  man  like 
Captain  Brincker  for  a  pleasure  excursion.  Is 
it  not  so?" 

Alfaro  had  lost  his  appetite.  The  process  of 
114 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

putting  two  and  two  together  filled  him  with 
alarm.  His  young  friend  Goodwin  was  entan- 
gling himself  unawares  in  the  concerns  of  Gen- 
eral Quesada,  who  bore  him  a  violent  grudge. 
Alas,  that  he  could  not  have  been  warned  to 
steer  clear  of  Captain  Brincker  and  the  Juan 
Lopez!  Alfaro  was  a  poor  dinner  companion  for 
the  dapper  Antonio.  He  asked  other  questions 
and  the  answers  were  not  reassuring.  Quesada 
was  said  to  have  been  gambling  heavily  in  the 
disreputable  resorts  of  Panama.  Where  had  he 
found  funds  to  finance  a  Central  American 
revolution?  He  had  stolen  his  provisions  and 
the  Juan  Lopez  had  been  sold  him  for  a  song. 
But  guns  and  munitions  cost  a  pot  of  money, 
and  there  were  wages  to  pay.  Probably  some 
shady  concession  hunter  had  backed  the  enter- 
prise. 

All  this  Alfaro  moodily  considered  until  he 
could  no  longer  curb  his  impatience. 

"You  will  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  me,  An- 
tonio," said  he.  "I  have  something  to  attend 
to.  The  address  of  General  Quesada's  house  in 
Panama?  I  wish  to  write  it  down.  And  you  say 
that  Captain  Brincker  has  been  living  with  him?" 
"5 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"  Something  diplomatic  in  the  wind?  "  smiled 
the  shipping  merchant.  "You  fear  the  Juan 
Lopez  may  again  annoy  the  politics  of  your  fair 
country  of  Colombia?" 

"'No,  Antonio.  It  has  to  do  with  a  friend. 
He  saved  my  life.  It  is  better  to  be  too  anxious 
for  such  a  one  than  too  little." 

"You  have  my  approval.  Command  me  if 
I  can  aid  you.  Adios" 

Hastening  from  the  hotel,  Alfaro  took  the 
shortest  road  to  the  Ancon  hospital,  for  Good- 
win had  told  him  that  he  was  staying  there  for 
the  present  as  a  guest.  After  considerable 
trouble,  he  found  the  young  surgeon  of  the  ac- 
cident ward,  who  was  off  duty  in  his  quarters. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "the  base-ball  pitcher  with  a 
game  wing  is  supposed  to  be  bunking  with  me, 
but  he  flew  the  coop  this  afternoon  and  I  haven't 
seen  him  since.  He  said  he  was  going  to  Balboa 
to  sniff  the  breezes.  You  look  worried.  Any- 
thing wrong?" 

"I  am  a  little  afraid  for  him,"  answered  Al- 
faro. "He  was  to  dine  with  me.  I  think  he 
may  have  gone  into  Panama  and  got  himself 
into  trouble.  He  has  mixed  himself  up  with 
116 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

some  people  who  would  be  very  glad  to  do  him 
harm." 

The  surgeon  looked  perturbed  in  his  turn. 

"I  am  fond  of  the  youngster,"  said  he.  "He 
is  not  in  fit  condition  to  take  care  of  himself. 
If  you  have  reason  to  fret  about  him,  suppose 
we  try  to  look  him  up.  Shall  I  telephone  the 
Zone  police  department?  Have  you  any  clews?  " 

A  solid  foot-fall  sounded  on  the  screened 
porch,  and  the  big  frame  of  Jack  Devlin,  the 
steam-shovel  man,  loomed  at  the  door.  His 
pugnacious,  redly  tanned  face  beamed  good- 
naturedly  as  he  said  in  greeting: 

"Howdy,  Doc !  I  dropped  in  to  see  my  young 
pal  Goodwin,  but  he's  not  in  the  ward.  What 
have  you  done  with  him?  Is  he  all  mended?" 

"We  have  sort  of  mislaid  him.  This  is  his 
friend,  Senor  Alfaro.  He  can  explain  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

Devlin  gripped  the  slim  fingers  of  the  Co- 
lombian in  his  calloused  paw  and  exclaimed: 

"Glad  to  meet  you.  Goodwin  told  me  how 
you  played  a  star  part  in  the  one-act  piece  of 
the  parrot  and  the  broomstick.  What's  on 
your  mind?" 

117 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"  Goodwin  has  not  come  back,  and  we  think 
General  Quesada  may  have  caught  him  in 
Panama." 

"Quesada,  eh?"  and  Devlin  scowled  fero- 
ciously. "I  wouldn't  mind  taking  a  crack  at 
that  fat  crook  myself.  What's  the  evidence? 
Put  me  next." 

Alfaro  explained  in  his  vehement,  impassioned 
manner,  and  at  the  mention  of  Captain  Brincker 
the  steam-shovel  man  raised  a  hand  and  inter- 
rupted: 

"  Stop  a  minute.  You  say  you  saw  this  gray- 
headed  beach-comber  in  Guayaquil  one  time? 
So  did  I,  my  son.  I  know  him.  He  is  bad 
medicine  for  young  Goodwin  to  interfere  with, 
but  he  has  a  decent  streak  in  him.  Quesada 
sounds  a  good  deal  worse  to  me.  He's  a  yellow 
pup  all  the  way  through.  Come  along,  Senor 
Alfaro.  Grab  your  hat  and  follow  me.  I  need 
you  to  sling  the  Spanish  language." 

"You  are  going  to  consult  with  the  police?" 
queried  the  Colombian. 

"  Not  on  your  life.  I'll  round  up  this  Quesada- 
Brincker  outfit  all  by  myself.  I  am  kind  of  re- 
sponsible for  Goodwin.  I  feel  like  a  godfather 
118 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

by  brevet  to  him.  It  will  do  no  harm  to  look 
into  this  thing.  I  am  just  naturally  suspicious 
of  Panamanians  in  general  and  of  Quesada 
in  particular.  Good-by,  Doc.  I'll  keep  you 
posted." 

They  were  lucky  enough  to  find  a  cab  in  the 
hospital  grounds  and,  as  the  cochero  plied  the 
whip,  Alfaro  added  the  details  of  his  meeting 
with  Goodwin  on  the  wharf.  Devlin  listened 
grimly.  He  had  become  taciturn.  He  was  no 
longer  the  jovial,  swaggering  steam-shovel  man 
bragging  of  the  prowess  of  "old  Twenty-six" 
but  a  two-fisted  American  of  the  frontier 
breed,  schooled  to  think  and  to  act  in  tight 
places. 

"I  intend  to  get  into  General  Quesada's 
house  and  look  his  game  over,"  said  he. 

"But  he  has  a  revolver.  He  tried  to  kill  me 
with  it,"  cried  Alfaro. 

"Pshaw,  I  never  found  one  of  you  Spanish- 
Americans  that  could  shoot  straight,"  was  the 
impolite  comment. 

They  left  the  cab  at  the  nearest  corner. 
Devlin  strode  ahead,  Alfaro  peering  warily 
about  for  unfriendly  policemen  of  the  Panama 
119 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

force.    In  front  of  the  house  Devlin  halted  and 
said: 

"You  are  a  professional  diplomat.  Better 
stay  outside  and  jolly  the  Spiggoty  police  if  a 
row  breaks  loose  inside.  They  will  try  to  help 
Quesada.  If  I  need  you  I'll  sing  out  good  and 
loud." 

"But  I  am  not  a  coward,"  earnestly  pro- 
tested the  Colombian.  "I  am  not  afraid  to  go 
in  with  you.  Goodwin  saved  my  life.  I  will 
do  anything  for  him." 

"You  do  as  you're  told,  young  man,  or  I  may 
get  peevish  with  you,"  was  the  decisive  reply. 

Devlin  rang  the  bell.  When  the  door  was 
opened  by  some  one  dimly  visible  in  the  un- 
lighted  vestibule,  he  demanded  in  very  bad 
Spanish: 

"I  wish  to  see  General  Quesada.  It  is  im- 
portant." 

A  strong  voice  answered  in  excellent  English : 

"The  general  will  not  be  home  to-night. 
What  is  your  business?" 

Devlin  shoved  the  other  man  aside  and  ad- 
vanced into  the  hallway,  at  the  further  end  of 
which  an  electric  bulb  was  aglow. 
1 20 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

The  other  man  quickly  followed  and  locked 
the  door  behind  him. 

"Pretty  exclusive,  aren't  you?"  said  Devlin. 
"Why,  hello,  Captain  Brincker.  I'm  looking 
for  a  young  friend  of  mine  named  Goodwin. 
What  have  you  done  with  him?" 

Gazing  hard  at  the  bold  intruder,  the  soldier 
of  fortune  answered: 

"There  is  no  young  man  in  the  house.  You 
are  Jack  Devlin." 

"  Sure  I  am,  and  my  belief  is  that  you  are  a 
liar.  Do  you  recall  the  night  when  you  broke 
jail  ahead  of  the  government  troops  that  were 
going  to  shoot  you  next  morning,  and  swam 
aboard  my  dredge  hi  Guayaquil  harbor?" 

"That  revolution  in  Ecuador  was  unlucky 
for  me,"  returned  Captain  Brincker,  in  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact way,  as  if  this  meeting  were  not  at  all 
extraordinary.  "I  was  on  the  losing  side.  You 
hid  me  on  your  dredge  and  kept  me  there  until 
I  could  slip  away  in  a  German  tramp  steamer. 
I  have  not  forgotten  it." 

Devlin  stood  alertly  poised,  his  mind  intent 
on  the  main  issue.    If  there  was  to  be  a  truce 
it  must  be  on  his  own  terms.    There  was  con- 
tempt in  his  eyes  as  he  said: 
121 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"You  have  fallen  pretty  low  since  then,  Cap- 
tain Brincker,  to  play  jackal  to  this  cheap  bully 
of  a  General  Quesada.  I'm  sorry  I  hauled  you 
aboard  my  dredge.  I  have  called  you  a  liar. 
Are  you  man  enough  to  resent  it?" 

As  if  his  degradation  had  been  brought  home 
to  him,  Captain  Brincker's  deeply  lined  cheek 
turned  a  dull  red.  He  had  his  own  misguided 
sense  of  duty,  however,  and  he  was  thinking 
of  his  employer's  interests  as  he  rejoined: 

"That  is  a  personal  matter.  You  and  I  will 
settle  it  later.  I  cannot  let  you  come  into  this 
house,  do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  growled  Devlin. 
"  You're  bound  to  earn  your  dirty  wages.  Now, 
what  about  young  Goodwin?  He's  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  you  know  what  that  means." 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing " 

"I'm  sick  of  all  this  conversation.  I  can  see 
it  in  your  eye  that  you're  guilty,"  was  Devlin's 
quick  retort.  His  fist  shot  out  and  collided  with 
the  jaw  of  Captain  Brincker,  who  staggered 
back  as  Devlin  clinched  with  him.  Their  feet 
scuffled  furiously  upon  the  stone  floor.  The 
struggle  was  waged  in  silence.  The  steam- 
shovel  man  was  the  younger  and  more  ac- 
122 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

tive,  and  he  was  a  seasoned  rough-and-tumble 
fighter.  A  hip-lock,  a  tremendous  heave  and 
twist,  and  Captain  Brincker  went  down  like  a 
falling  tree. 

Devlin  sat  upon  his  chest  and  searched  his 
clothing  for  weapons.  Finding  a  loaded  re- 
volver, he  cocked  it  and  allowed  the  vanquished 
soldier  of  fortune  to  rise  to  his  feet.  The 
victor's  nose  was  bleeding,  but  he  looked  pleased 
as  he  gustily  observed: 

"Too  speedy  for  you,  eh?  I  hope  I  jolted 
some  decency  into  you.  I'm  the  boss  and  you'll 
tell  me  what  I  want  to  know." 

Without  a  word,  Captain  Brincker  walked 
to  the  patio  and  sat  down  with  his  head  in  his 
hands.  The  violent  fall  had  dazed  him.  Dev- 
lin looked  at  him  and  said  with  a  pitying 
laugh: 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  You 
used  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  man.  A  bit  too  old 
for  the  strenuous  life!  Getting  the  best  of 
you  was  like  taking  candy  from  a  child.  Now, 
I  mean  business.  Tell  me  the  truth,  or  I'll 
bend  this  gun  over  your  head." 

Like  a  good  strategist,  Devlin  had  taken  his 
123 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

stand  where  he  could  command  a  view  of  all 
the  entrances  into  the  patio.  If  surprised  by 
numbers,  he  intended  to  shoot  his  way  out  of 
the  house. 

Captain  Brincker  hated  himself  beyond 
words.  He  had  wavered  when  he  might  have 
protected  Walter  Goodwin  against  the  wrath 
of  General  Quesada.  And  now  Devlin  had  made 
him  feel  utterly  unmanly  and  despicable.  It 
had  not  been  a  part  of  his  trade  to  protect  a 
thief  and  betray  an  honest,  courageous  American 
lad.  He  was  in  a  mood  to  try  to  make  amends. 
He  was  ready  to  haul  down  his  colors. 

"I  owe  you  a  favor,  Devlin,"  said  he,  speak- 
ing with  an  effort.  "You  did  me  a  good  turn 
in  Guayaquil  harbor.  And  you  have  the  upper 
hand.  I  cannot  stomach  this  Goodwin  affair. 
Yes,  the  boy  came  here.  I  meant  him  no  harm. 
I  was  afraid  he  knew  too  much  about  the  Juan 
Lopez  expedition.  I  wanted  to  keep  him  quiet 
for  a  little  while.  But  he  had  caught  General 
Quesada  at  something  worse.  There  was  a 
scheme  between  him  and  an  American  at 
Balboa,  a  young  man  who  had  been  knocking 
about  the  west  coast  and  found  a  job  on  the 
124 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

wharf.     He  had  gambled  with  Quesada  and 
lost.    The  general  put  the  screws  on  him." 

"I  heard  about  that  to-night,"  impatiently 
broke  in  Devlin.  "  Then  Quesada  took  Goodwin 
out  of  your  hands.  What  has  he  done  with  him?  " 

"Carried  him  aboard  the  Juan  Lopez.  She 
is  ready  to  sail.  They  are  only  waiting  for  me 
to  come  on  board." 

"How  long  will  Quesada  wait  for  you?  The 
steamer  is  anchored  in  the  bay,  I  suppose." 

"He  will  not  wait  too  long.  He  is  afraid  and 
suspicious.  He  will  think  the  expedition  has 
been  discovered  and  I  am  in  trouble.  He  will 
expect  me  to  get  away  in  a  sail-boat  and  meet 
him  at  a  rendezvous  on  the  coast." 

"I  believe  you  are  honest  with  me,"  said 
Devlin.  "I  can't  go  aboard  and  take  Goodwin 
off  single-handed.  And  neither  can  I  trust  you 
to  see  that  no  harm  comes  to  him  on  the  voy- 
age." 

"You  are  not  fair  to  me,"  protested  Captain 
Brincker.  "I  am  very  sorry  that  General 
Quesada  got  hold  of  him." 

Devlin  laughed  incredulously  and  made  an 
emphatic  gesture  with  the  revolver. 
125 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"You  are  a  desperate,  broken  man,"  he  cried. 
"You  are  playing  for  a  stake  against  big  odds. 
Quesada  is  your  boss.  Once  you  get  to  sea  with 
a  ship-load  of  guns  and  cut-throat  recruits  and 
you  will  not  let  the  boy  stand  between  you  and 
your  business.  You  are  too  old  a  dog  to  learn 
new  tricks.  You  mean  well,  but  you  are  hard 
as  nails.  And  I  cannot  trust  you  to  stand  up 
against  Quesada  and  the  rest  of  them  to  save 
the  lad." 

Captain  Brincker  chewed  his  gray  mustache 
in  silence.  At  length  he  grumbled: 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Devlin  was  perplexed,  and  he  cogitated  at 
some  length  before  declaring: 

"I  have  the  bright  idea.  I  will  hold  you  as 
a  hostage.  When  I  think  of  that  poor  crippled 
lad  out  yonder,  with  Quesada  cooking  it  up  in 
his  wicked  heart  how  he  can  easiest  make  way 
with  him,  it's  a  wonder  I'm  not  mad  enough 
to  blow  the  head  off  you,  Captain  Brincker. 
You  may  be  thankful  that  I'm  not  a  violent 
man." 

Devlin  glanced  into  the  hallway.  He  dared 
not  leave  his  prisoner,  so  he  gruffly  ordered  him 
126 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

to  march  in  front  of  him.  Halting  inside  the 
front  door,  he  sang  out  in  a  tremendous  voice: 

"Oh,  you  Alfaro!    Get  a  jump  on  yourself." 

The  faithful  Colombian  heard  the  summons 
and  dashed  in  as  the  door  was  unbolted. 

"Are  you  killed?"  he  gasped. 

"Not  by  a  considerable  majority,  my  son. 
Captain  Brincker  and  I  had  an  argument.  I 
win.  Here,  don't  step  between  him  and  the  gun 
in  my  fist.  Do  you  know  where  to  find  a  launch 
in  a  hurry  and  a  man  to  run  it?" 

"Yes.  My  friend  Antonio  Varilla,  who  dined 
with  me  to-night,  has  a  fast  gasolene  boat." 

"Can  you  find  him  to-night?" 

"He  was  going  from  the  hotel  to  the  Univer- 
sity Club  of  Panama  to  play  a  match  at  bill- 
iards. He  will  be  there  now.  Tell  me,  where 
is  Goodwin?" 

"I'm  going  to  send  you  to  find  him,  Alfaro. 
My  Spanish  is  very  rocky  or  I'd  do  the  trick 
myself  and  leave  you  on  sentry  duty  with  the 
prisoner.  You  get  that  launch  and  you  look 
for  the  Juan  Lopez,  understand?  She  is  in  the 
bay,  between  here  and  Balboa.  And  you  put 
it  up  to  General  Quesada  that  his  right-hand 
127 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

man,  Captain  Brincker,  is  too  busy  looking 
into  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  to  join  the  expedition. 
If  Goodwin  conies  back  with  you,  Captain 
Brincker  goes  free.  Otherwise  I'll  march  this 
gray-headed  reprobate  to  the  Ancon  jail  as  a 
filibuster  caught  in  the  act.  And  he'll  get 
about  five  years.  Uncle  Sam  is  mighty  hostile 
to  anybody  who  tries  to  touch  off  a  revolution 
in  these  little  Central  American  republics." 

Alfaro  nodded  with  eager  approval.  Here 
was  a  crafty,  resourceful  stratagem  after  his 
own  heart.  Devlin  was  a  most  admirable 
leader. 

"I  will  find  the  launch  in  a  hurry,"  said  he, 
"and  I  will  enjoy  making  a  speech  to  General 
Quesada.  Trust  me  to  do  my  share.  Shall  I 
come  back  to  this  house?" 

"Yes.  I  will  not  deprive  Captain  Brincker 
of  my  society.  And  you  may  tell  General 
Quesada  that  I  intend  to  camp  on  his  trail 
till  I  get  his  scalp,  too." 

Alfaro  vanished  at  top  speed  and  Devlin 

prodded  his  captive  back  to  the  patio.     Under 

the  circumstances,  the  soldier  of  fortune  was 

not  the  most  entertaining  company.    They  sat 

128 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

facing  each  other  in  the  wicker  chairs  while  the 
hours  dragged  their  slow  length  along.  The 
house  was  otherwise  deserted.  The  servants 
had  been  dismissed  earlier  in  the  day.  The 
thick  stone  walls  shut  out  the  street  sounds, 
but  the  open  windows  overlooking  the  bay 
admitted  the  murmuring  noise  of  the  waves 
on  the  beach. 

At  length  Devlin  heard  the  staccato  explo- 
sions of  a  launch's  engine,  diminishing  in  the 
distance.  He  hoped  that  Alfaro  was  on  his 
way.  The  tense  excitement  of  the  situation 
had  slackened.  Devlin  was  feeling  the  nervous 
strain,  and  with  a  yawn  he  suggested: 

"What  about  making  some  black  coffee, 
Captain  Brincker?  You  and  I  are  in  for  a  late 
session  to-night.  Shall  I  convoy  you  into  the 
kitchen?  I  will  poke  the  gun  at  you  no  more 
than  I  can  help." 

The  prisoner  complied  rather  grumpily.  His 
sense  of  humor  was  in  eclipse.  For  a  compulsory 
cook,  he  brewed  a  most  excellent  pot  of  coffee 
which  Devlin  complimented  in  friendly  terms. 
As  an  experienced  judge  of  men  and  their 
motives,  he  observed,  after  reflection: 
129 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"I  do  not  think  so  harshly  of  you  as  I  did. 
War  is  a  cruel  game,  and  you  are  too  old  a  dog 
to  learn  new  tricks,  I  suppose.  You  ought  to 
have  been  caught  young  and  tamed.  I  believe 
you  had  a  notion  of  befriending  the  Goodwin 
lad." 

"Thank  you,  Devlin.  It  has  been  a  good 
many  years  since  any  man  said  as  decent  a 
thing  as  that  about  me."  The  fallen  soldier 
of  fortune  looked  his  gratitude,  and  his  face 
was  more  eloquent  than  his  words. 

A  long  silence  fell  between  them.  Each  man 
was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  It  was  broken 
by  Devlin. 

"Quesada  will  not  dare  to  knock  Goodwin  on 
the  head  and  throw  him  into  the  bay,  will  he? 
He  thinks  he  has  kidnapped  the  lad  without 
anybody's  knowledge.  And  he  has  reason 
enough  for  getting  rid  of  him." 

"No.  You  need  have  no  fear  of  that.  He 
may  plan  nothing  worse  than  to  maroon  him 
in  the  jungle  of  San  Salvador." 

"It  would  be  as  bad  as  death  for  the  boy,  and 
his  right  arm  is  useless." 

Through  the  seaward  windows  they  heard  the 
130 


JACK  DEVLIN  IN  ACTION 

distant  throb  of  a  steamer's  engines,  fluttering, 
irregular.  The  sound  carried  far  across  the 
quiet  water.  The  two  men  gazed  at  each  other. 

"  She  makes  a  clatter  like  a  mowing-machine. 
You  could  hear  her  for  miles,"  said  Devlin.  He 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  menaced  his  prisoner 
with  the  revolver.  "  'Tis  an  old,  worn-out 
boat  that  makes  a  noise  like  that." 

"It  is  the  Juan  Lopez"  exclaimed  Captain 
Brincker,  and  he  did  not  flinch.  "I  know  those 
engines  of  hers.  She  is  outward  bound.  She 
has  sailed  without  me." 

"Who  cares  about  you?"  roared  Devlin. 
"Alfaro  failed  to  turn  the  trick.  Quesada  has 
carried  young  Goodwin  to  sea,  and  precious 
little  show  the  lad  will  have  for  his  life." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

WHEN  Jack  Devlin  learned  that  the  Juan 
Lopez  had  gone  to  sea,  he  forgot  his  threat  of 
putting  the  soldier  of  fortune  in  a  Canal  Zone 
jail.  His  one  concern  was  to  rescue  Walter 
Goodwin.  The  steam-shovel  man  had  that 
rugged,  indomitable  temperament  which  re- 
fuses to  quit  as  long  as  there  is  a  fighting  chance. 
Fiercely  turning  upon  the  disconsolate  Captain 
Brincker,  he  shouted: 

"I  have  no  time  to  bother  with  you.  You 
could  have  saved  the  lad,  and  you  stood  by  and 
let  Quesada  carry  him  away.  Many  a  man  has 
stretched  hemp  for  a  deed  less  cruel.  I  will  wait 
here  for  Alfaro.  Get  out  of  my  sight.  The 
house  is  not  big  enough  for  the  two  of  us." 

Without  a  word  Captain  Brincker,  sorry, 
ashamed,  and  perhaps  repentant,  went  into  the 
street.  Devlin  paced  the  hallway  like  a  caged 
132 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

lion,  hoping  against  hope  that  Alfaro  might  be 
bringing  Walter  Goodwin  ashore  in  the  launch. 
It  was  after  midnight  when  the  Colombian 
came  running  into  the  house  with  only  breath 
enough  to  gasp: 

"The  launch  was  a  big  one — General  Quesada 
was  frightened  when  he  saw  it — he  thought  it 
was  from  the  American  government,  sent  to 
catch  him.  They  would  not  listen  to  me.  The 
Juan  Lopez  slipped  her  cable  and  ran  to  sea  as 
hard  as  she  could." 

Grasping  him  by  the  shoulders,  Devlin 
hoarsely  demanded: 

"Could  you  tell  if  Goodwin  was  on  board?" 

"I  called  to  him  in  English.  I  told  him  his 
friends  would  find  him.  I  thought  I  heard  him 
try  to  holler  something,  but  there  was  much 
noise,  the  engines,  and  the  men  giving  orders. 
They  yelled  to  me  to  keep  away  or  they  would 
shoot." 

"I  guess  we  had  better  get  busy  and  plan  our 
campaign,"  said  Devlin. 

"What  will  you  do?  Wake  up  the  American 
minister  in  Panama?  It  is  now  a  diplomatic 
matter.  It  is  an  international  outrage.  It  is 
133 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

a  Panama  steamer  that  has  stolen  Goodwin, 
and  General  Quesada  belongs  to  the  republic." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  drawled  the  steam-shovel 
man.  "Do  you  know  what  that  means?  Ca- 
bling to  Washington  and  enough  red  tape  in 
the  State  Department  to  choke  a  cow.  And 
delay  to  drive  you  crazy.  And  what  becomes 
of  Goodwin  in  the  meantime?" 

Rather  chagrined  to  hear  diplomacy  dismissed 
so  scornfully,  Alfaro  timidly  ventured: 

"The  civil  administration  of  the  Canal 
Zone?" 

Devlin  hauled  the  young  man  into  the  street 
and  hustled  him  in  the  direction  of  Ancon,  as 
he  confidently  declared: 

"Your  theories  are  too  complicated,  my  son. 
Diplomacy  has  killed  your  speed.  There  is 
only  one  boss  on  the  Isthmus,  one  man  who  can 
do  things  right  on  the  jump  without  consulting 
anybody  in  the  world.  I'm  going  to  put  this 
up  to  the  colonel." 

"To  Colonel  Gunther?"  Alfaro  was  dum- 
founded.  "Will  he  let  you  talk  to  him?  Will 
he  bother  himself  with  this  affair  of  ours?" 

"You  bet  he  will.    And  let  me  tell  you,  a 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

steam-shovel  man  with  the  high  record  for 
excavating  in  the  Cut  can  go  straight  to  the 
colonel  on  business  a  whole  lot  less  important 
than  this." 

"Can  we  see  him  to-night?" 

"No.  There  is  no  train  to  Culebra.  But, 
lucky  for  us,  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  he  holds 
open  court  in  his  office,  early  in  the  morning. 
It  is  then  that  any  man  on  the  job  with  a  kick, 
growl,  or  grievance  can  talk  it  over  with  the 
colonel.  I  will  go  to  your  hotel  with  you,  Al- 
faro,  and  we  will  hop  aboard  the  first  train  out. 
It  will  be  only  a  few  hours  lost  and  that  con- 
demned old  junk-heap  of  a  Juan  Lopez  will  not 
be  many  miles  on  her  way  to  San  Salvador." 

Greatly  comforted,  the  Colombian  exclaimed 
with  much  feeling:  "Next  to  the  colonel,  I  think 
you  are  the  biggest  man  on  the  Isthmus, 
Senor  Devlin." 

"I  can  handle  a  steam-shovel  with  any  of 
them,  and  I  aim  to  stand  by  my  friends,"  was 
the  self-satisfied  reply. 

Before  eight  o'clock  next  morning  they  were 
waiting  in  a  large,  plainly  furnished  room  of  a 
barn-like  office  building  perched  on  the  hill- 
135 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

side  of  Culebra.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
maps  and  blue  prints.  At  a  desk  heaped  with 
papers  sat  the  soldierly,  white-haired  ruler  of 
forty  thousand  men,  the  supreme  director  of  a 
four-hundred-million-dollar  undertaking.  His 
cheek  was  ruddy,  his  smile  boyish,  and  he  ap- 
peared to  be  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 

He  had  come  to  listen  to  complaints,  no  mat- 
ter how  trivial,  to  pass  judgment,  to  give  ad- 
vice, like  a  modern  Caliph  of  Bagdad.  It  was 
a  cog  in  the  machinery  of  his  wonderful  organi- 
zation. Dissatisfaction  had  been  checked  as 
soon  as  the  colonel  set  apart  the  one  forenoon 
of  the  week  in  which  his  men  were  not  at  work 
in  order  that  they  might "  talk  it  over  with  him." 
As  Jack  Devlin  entered  the  office  he  was  hum- 
ming under  his  breath  the  refrain  of  a  popular 
song  composed  by  an  Isthmian  bard: 

"  Don't  hesitate  to  state  your  case, 
The  boss  will  hear  you  through, 
It's  true  he's  sometimes  busy 
And  has  other  things  to  do; 
But  come  on  Sunday  morning 

And  line  up  with  the  rest, 
You'll  maybe  feel  some  better 
With  that  grievance  off  your  chest." 
136 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

The  colonel  was  listening  gravely  to  a  differ- 
ence of  opinion  between  a  black  Jamaican 
laborer  and  his  buxom  wife,  touching  the  owner- 
ship of  seventeen  dollars  which  she  had  earned 
by  washing  and  ironing.  The  wise  judge  ruled 
that  the  money  belonged  to  her  and  ordered 
the  husband  to  return  it.  He  muttered: 

"I'se  a  British  subjeck,  sah,  an'  mah  prop- 
erty rights  is  protected  by  de  British  laws,  sah." 

"All  right,"  and  the  colonel's  blue  eyes 
snapped.  "If  you  like,  I'll  deport  you.  You 
can  get  all  the  English  law  you  want  in  Ja- 
maica." 

A  perplexed  young  man  informed  the  colonel 
that  he  was  the  secretary  of  the  Halcyon  Social 
and  Literary  Club  of  Gorgona,  which  desired 
to  give  a  dance  in  the  ballroom  of  the  Tivoli 
Hotel.  The  request  had  been  denied  because 
of  a  clash  of  dates  with  another  organization. 
Would  the  colonel  help  straighten  it  out?  Cer- 
tainly he  would,  and  he  sent  the  young  man 
away  satisfied,  after  investigating  the  difficulty 
with  as  scrupulous  attention  as  if  the  fate  of 
the  Gatun  dam  had  been  involved. 

A  brawny  blacksmith's  helper  had  been  dis- 
137 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

charged  by  his  foreman.  He  thought  himself 
unfairly  treated.  The  colonel  pressed  a  button, 
and  inside  three  minutes  the  man's  record, 
neatly  documented,  was  on  the  desk. 

"You  deserved  what  you  got,"  crisply  de- 
clared the  colonel.  "You  were  drunk  and 
insolent,  and  I  am  surprised  that  the  foreman 
did  not  tap  you  over  the  head  with  a  crow-bar.", 

Jack  Devlin  restlessly  awaited  his  turn, 
while  Alfaro  looked  on  with  comical  wonder- 
ment that  so  great  a  man  should  busy  himself 
with  matters  so  trifling.  At  length  the  colonel 
swung  his  chair  around  and  affably  observed: 

"Hello,  Devlin.  Have  you  dug  Twenty-six 
out  of  the  slide?  And  when  will  she  make  an- 
other high  record?" 

"  She  is  some  bunged  up,  colonel,  but  still  in 
the  ring.  The  old  girl  will  be  going  strong  in 
another  week." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"It's  not  myself  that  has  any  kick,  colonel. 
I  want  your  help  for  a  friend  of  mine.  He's  not 
on  the  job,  but  I  hope  it  will  make  no  difference 
with  you.  He  worked  for  Mr.  Naughton  on 
the  dynamite  ship,  and  then  Major  Glendin- 
138 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

ning  half-way  promised  him  a  place  on  the  gold 
roll  because  he  can  pitch  ball  like  a  streak  of 
greased  lightning." 

Devlin  halted  and  grinned  at  his  own  frank- 
ness. The  colonel  smiled  back  at  him. 

"Base-ball  is  irrelevant,  Devlin,  but  I  am 
sure  Major  Glendinning  would  make  your  young 
man  earn  his  salary.  So  he  wanted  him  to 
pitch  for  Cristobal?  But  you  are  the  catcher 
of  the  Culebra  nine.  You  show  an  unselfish 
interest,  I'm  sure." 

"  I'm  a  fierce  rooter  on  the  ball  field,  colonel, 
but  I  can't  let  it  come  between  friends.  This 
young  chap,  .Walter  Goodwin,  got  General 
Quesada  down  on  him.  He  whaled  the  fat 
scoundrel  with  a  broomstick  on  board  the 
Saragossa.  Quesada  was  trying  to  perforate 
Seflor  Alfaro  here  with  a  gun." 

The  colonel  appeared  keenly  interested  and 
interrupted  to  say:  "Why,  I  was  on  the  ship 
and  I  remember  the  youngster  quite  well.  He 
was  a  seaman.  The  skipper  told  me  about  the 
row.  I  liked  Goodwin's  pluck.  Between  us, 
Devlin,  the  Panamanian  gentleman  had  pro- 
voked a  drubbing." 

139 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Yes,  sir.  Goodwin  was  working  his  passage 
to  the  Isthmus  to  look  for  a  job  and " 

"Why  didn't  he  let  me  know  it  on  ship- 
board?" queried  the  colonel.  "I  was  interested 
in  him." 

"He  didn't  have  the  nerve.  You  looked  too 
big  to  him.  To  cut  it  short,  he  was  tipped  over 
by  the  same  landslide  that  left  me  and  poor  old 
Twenty-six  all  spraddled  out.  He  came  out  of 
Ancon  hospital  yesterday  with  no  job  and  his 
arm  tied  up.  And  he  wandered  down  to  Balboa 
and  caught  General  Quesada's  steamer,  the 
Juan  Lopez,  stealing  commissary  stores  from 
the  wharf  to  outfit  a  filibustering  expedition. 
Quesada  got  hold  of  him  and  lugged  him  off  to 
sea  last  night.  It's  surely  a  bad  fix  for  Good- 
win." 

The  colonel  no  longer  smiled.  His  resolute 
mouth  tightened  beneath  the  short,  white  mus- 
tache. The  blue  eyes  flashed.  He  listened  to 
Alfaro's  detailed  confirmation  of  the  story. 
With  winning  courtesy  the  colonel  said  to  him: 

"Your  father,  the  Colombian  minister  of 
foreign  affairs,  has  no  love  for  the  United 
States,  I  am  told.  Will  you  tell  him,  with  my 
140 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

compliments,  that  I  greatly  admire  the  be- 
havior of  his  son?  " 

Turning  to  Devlin  he  added,  crisply,  de- 
cisively: 

"I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  your  story.  You 
have  a  fine  record.  I  shall  act  first  and  inves- 
tigate later.  Goodwin  was  kidnapped  from  the 
Zone,  from  American  soil,  as  I  understand  it. 
He  was  living  with  one  of  the  surgeons  at 
Ancon?" 

"Yes,  colonel.  You  can  find  out  by  tele- 
phone easy  enough." 

"How  many  men  were  there  on  the  Juan 
Lopez  ?  And  how  fast  is  she?" 

Alfaro  answered: 

"There  were  fifty  or  sixty  men  on  board  when 
I  saw  her  at  Balboa  yesterday.  Perhaps  more 
were  taken  on  in  the  bay  last  night.  I  know 
something  about  filibustering  expeditions.  She 
would  carry  not  less  than  a  hundred  men.  And 
of  course  there  are  plenty  of  guns  in  her.  Her 
speed  is  slow.  She  will  go  eight  or  nine  knots, 
I  think." 

"Will  General  Quesada  fight?"    The  colonel 
asked  the  question  with  distinctly  cheerful  in- 
141 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

tonation,  as  if  for  the  moment  he  was  more 
soldier  than  engineer. 

"He  may  fight  for  his  neck,"  said  Devlin, 
"  and  if  he  has  a  chance  to  get  away.  He  knows 
that  he  is  caught  with  the  goods.  But  with- 
out Captain  Brincker,  he  is  a  lame  duck." 

"And  you  are  sure  that  young  Goodwin  is  in 
serious  danger?" 

"Why  not?"  and  Devlin  pounded  the  desk 
with  his  hard  fist.  "Quesada  has  motives 
enough  for  losing  him  somewhere." 

"I  agree  with  you.  And,  besides,  I  should 
like  to  recover  those  commissary  stores." 

The  colonel  gazed  at  the  opposite  wall,  com- 
posed and  thoughtful.  Devlin  eyed  him  wist- 
fully, afraid  that  he  might  consider  the  case  as 
beyond  his  jurisdiction.  Then  with  a  quick 
glow  of  heat,  the  anger  of  a  strong  man  right- 
eously provoked,  the  colonel  said  sharply: 

"It  is  a  rotten,  abominable  performance, 
clear  through.  We  are  wasting  time." 

Summoning  a  clerk,  he  told  him: 

"Get  Captain  Brett,  the  superintendent  at 
Balboa,  on  the  telephone.  Tell  him  that  I  wish 
the  biggest,  fastest  tug  of  the  fleet,  the  Daunt- 
142 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

less,  if  possible,  to  be  coaled  and  ready  for  sea 
in  two  hours.  Please  ask  him  to  call  me  up  and 
report." 

The  colonel  hesitated  as  if  a  question  of 
authority  perplexed  him,  but  when  the  clerk 
returned  he  was  ready  with  another  com- 
mand. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  Major  Frazier  of  the 
marine  battalion  at  Camp  Elliot  personally. 
Please  connect  his  house  with  my  desk." 

Devh'n  nudged  Alfaro.  The  face  of  the  steam- 
shovel  man  lighted  with  the  joy  of  battle.  The 
colonel  was  a  man  with  his  two  feet  under  him. 
They  heard  him  say  to  the  commander  of  the 
force  of  United  States  marines: 

"It  is  an  emergency  detail,  Major.  I  will 
forward  the  formal  request  and  explanation  to 
you  in  writing,  but  the  documents  can  wait. 
An  officer  and  a  half  company  of  men  will  be 
enough.  Yes,  equipped  for  active  service. 
Thank  you,  very  much.  I  will  have  a  special 
train  at  your  station  in  an  hour  from  now, 
ready  to  take  them  to  Balboa.  It  is  a  bit  of 
sea  duty.  Your  men  will  enjoy  it." 

Other  orders  issued  rapidly  from  the  colonel's 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

desk.  The  Panama  Railroad  was  notified  to 
despatch  a  special  train  and  give  it  a  clear  track 
through  to  the  Pacific.  The  Department  of 
Justice  of  the  Canal  Zone  was  requested  to  pre- 
pare the  papers  in  due  form  for  the  arrest  of 
General  Quesada,  and  the  seizure  of  his  vessel. 
The  splendidly  organized  system  of  adminis- 
tration moved  as  swiftly  and  smoothly  in  behalf 
of  that  humble,  forlorn  young  wanderer,  Walter 
Goodwin,  as  if  he  had  been  a  person  of  the 
greatest  consequence.  As  a  final  detail,  the 
colonel  made  out  passes  permitting  Devlin  to 
go  in  the  special  train  and  on  board  of  the 
government  tug. 

"You  will  want  to  see  the  fun,  I  suppose," 
said  he,  and  his  blue  eyes  twinkled  again.  "I 
should  enjoy  it  myself." 

"Indeed  you  would,  sir,"  frankly  replied 
Devlin. 

"I  think  the  capture  of  the  Juan  Lopez  is  in 
capable  hands,  with  you  and  the  marines  as 
the  fighting  force.  Report  to  me  as  soon  as 
you  come  back.  And  bring  Goodwin  with  you. 
I  want  to  congratulate  him  on  the  kind  of  friends 
he  has  made  on  the  Isthmus." 
144 


£ 
3 
•e 

c 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

They  stepped  aside  and  made  way  for  a  com- 
mittee from  the  machinists'  union  with  a 
grievance  concerning  pay  for  over-time.  The 
colonel  settled  back  in  his  chair  to  give  the 
problem  his  judicial  attention.  As  Devlin  left 
the  office  he  said  to  Alfaro: 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  my  son?  When  you 
want  quick  action  there  is  no  boss  like  a  benev- 
olent despot.  That  man  will  finish  the  Panama 
Canal  two  years  ahead  of  time  because  the  peo- 
ple at  home  have  sense  enough  to  let  him  alone." 

"If  he  had  ambitions  like  General  Quesada 
he  would  rule  all  of  South  America,"  was  the 
tribute  of  Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro. 

A  little  after  ten  o'clock  of  this  same  morning 
the  sea-going  tug  Dauntless,  of  the  dredging 
flotilla,  swung  away  from  the  coaling  wharf  at 
Balboa.  Beneath  her  awnings  lounged  thirty 
marines  in  khaki  who  welcomed  Jack  Devlin 
as  a  friendly  foe.  Several  of  them  had  played 
on  the  Camp  Elliot  nine  of  the  Isthmian  League, 
and  the  stalwart  Culebra  catcher  had  more  than 
once  routed  them  by  hammering  out  a  home- 
run  or  a  three-bagger  at  a  critical  moment. 

"It's  comical  that  we  should  be  chasing  after 
145 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

a  pitcher  that  will  try  to  trim  both  of  us,  Jack," 
said  a  clean-built  sergeant. 

"Maybe  he  will  ease  up  and  let  us  hit  the 
ball  occasionally,"  replied  Devlin.  "He  is  a 
good-hearted  lad  and  he  will  be  grateful  for  a 
small  favor  like  this." 

The  Dauntless  was  faster  than  the  Juan  Lopez 
by  two  or  three  knots  an  hour.  General  Que- 
sada  had  about  ten  hours'  start  in  his  flight  up 
the  coast.  The  pursuers  could  not  hope  to 
overtake  him  until  the  morning  of  the  second 
day  at  sea.  The  excitement  of  the  chase  kept 
all  hands  alert  and  in  high  spirits.  From  the 
captain  of  marines  in  command  of  the  detach- 
ment to  the  stokers  in  the  torrid  fire-room  ran 
the  fervent  hope  that  General  Quesada,  out- 
lawed and  desperate,  would  make  a  fight  of 
it.  The  marines  regretted  that  cutlasses  had 
not  been  included  hi  their  equipment.  The 
proper  climax  of  such  an  adventure  was  an  old- 
fashioned  boarding-party. 

The  long,  hot  day  and  the  sweet,  star-lit 

night  passed  by  and  the  powerful  tug  steadily 

tore  through  the  uneasy  swells  of  the  Pacific, 

holding  her  course  within  sight  of  the  Central 

146 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

American  coast  lest  the  quarry  might  double 
and  slip  into  bay  or  river. 

The  whole  ship's  company  crowded  forward 
when  the  master  of  the  Dauntless  shouted  from 
the  wheel-house  that  he  could  make  out  a 
smudge  of  smoke  to  the  northward. 

Slowly  the  tell-tale  smoke  increased  until  it 
became  a  dense  black  streamer  wind-blown 
along  the  blue  horizon.  Whatever  the  steamer 
might  be,  she  was  lavishly  burning  coal  as  if 
in  urgent  haste. 

The  captain  of  marines  sternly  addressed  his 
hilarious  men,  threatening  all  sorts  of  punish- 
ment if  they  so  much  as  cocked  a  rifle  before  the 
order  was  given.  Shading  their  eyes  with  their 
hands,  they  stood  and  watched  the  funnel  of 
the  distant  steamer  lift  above  the  rolling  waste 
of  ocean.  Slowly  her  hull  climbed  into  view, 
and  the  skipper  of  the  tug  recognized  that 
rusty,  dissolute  vagabond  of  the  high  seas,  the 
Juan  Lopez. 

Shortly  after  this,  the  fleeing  filibuster  must 
have  recognized  the  Dauntless  as  hailing  from 
the  Canal  Zone.  The  funnel  of  the  Juan  Lopez 
belched  heavier  clouds  of  smoke  from  her  fun- 
nel and  an  extra  revolution  or  two  was  coaxed 
147 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

from  her  decrepit  engines.  The  Dauntless 
gained  on  her  more  slowly.  Now  the  cheerful 
marines  dived  below  to  handle  shovels  instead 
of  rifles,  and  they  mightily  reinforced  the  sweat- 
ing stokers. 

"I  can  juggle  coal  pretty  fast  myself,"  said 
Jack  Devlin,  as  he  stripped  off  his  shirt  and 
followed  the  other  volunteers. 

This  frenzied  exertion  was  needless.  An  hour 
or  two  and  the  Dauntless  must  certainly  over- 
take the  laboring  Juan  Lopez.  Sympathy  for 
Walter  Goodwin,  anxiety  to  know  what  had 
become  of  him,  made  them  wild  with  impa- 
tience. He  was  an  American,  one  of  their  own 
breed,  and  he  was  in  trouble. 

The  vessels  were  perhaps  three  miles  apart 
when  the  Juan  Lopez  veered  from  her  course 
and  swept  at  a  long  slant  toward  the  green  and 
hilly  coast. 

"There  is  no  harbor  hereabouts,"  shouted 
the  skipper  of  the  Dauntless.  "They  are  go- 
ing to  beach  her  and  take  to  the  woods." 

The  alarm  on  deck  reached  the  ears  of  Jack 
Devlin,  who  popped  out  of  the  stoke-hole  and 
viewed  the  manceuvre  with  blank  dismay. 

"I  don't  blame  Quesada  for  beating  it  to  the 
148 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

tall  timber,"  he  muttered  disgustedly.  "But 
what  about  Goodwin?" 

The  Dauntless  turned  to  follow,  but  her  master 
was  unfamiliar  with  the  shoals  and  reefs  lying 
close  to  the  land.  He  reluctantly  slackened 
speed  to  feel  his  way  inshore.  The  Juan  Lopez, 
handled  by  one  who  knew  where  he  was  going, 
made  straight  for  a  small  bight  of  the  coast 
where  the  jungle  crept,  tall  and  dense,  to  the 
beach. 

The  marines  opened  fire  when  the  converging 
courses  of  the  two  vessels  brought  them  within 
extreme  rifle-range  of  each  other.  The  Juan 
Lopez  showed  no  intention  of  heaving  to.  Her 
crew  could  be  seen  running  to  and  fro,  working 
furiously  at  the  tackle  of  the  boats,  making 
ready  to  drop  them  overside.  The  volleys  from 
the  Dauntless  seemed  only  to  quicken  their  in- 
dustry. 

"Oh,  for  a  Maxim  or  a  Colt's  automatic!" 
sighed  the  captain  of  marines.  "I'd  make  that 
wicked  old  tub  look  like  a  porous  plaster.  Who 
ever  dreamed  the  beggars  would  do  anything 
but  surrender?" 

General  Quesada  had  obviously  concluded 
149 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

that  it  was  better  to  try  to  find  another  ship  and 
more  guns  and  rascals  than  to  cool  his  heels  in 
an  American  jail.  The  flight  of  the  Juan 
Lopez  ceased  abruptly  and  at  full-tilt.  She 
grounded  close  to  the  beach,  and  the  shock  was 
so  great  that  her  ancient  funnel  was  jerked  over- 
side as  if  it  had  been  plucked  out  by  the  roots. 

Many  of  her  crew  tarried  not  for  the  boats, 
but  jumped  overboard,  bobbed  up  like  so  many 
corks,  and  scrambled  through  the  surf  to  scuttle 
headlong  into  the  jungle. 

The  disappointed  marines  were  within  effec- 
tive shooting  distance,  and  they  merrily  pep- 
pered the  vanishing  rogues.  The  Dauntless 
swung  her  boats  out  and  a  landing-party  was 
swiftly  organized.  The  boats  of  the  fugitive 
filibusters  were  more  or  less  screened  from  view 
by  the  intervening  hull  of  the  Juan  Lopez.  A 
sharp  lookout  was  kept  for  the  bulky  figure  of 
General  Quesada  himself.  Somehow  he  escaped 
observation.  Before  the  marines  had  set  out 
for  the  shore,  the  last  runaway  from  the  Juan 
Lopez  had  fled  across  the  beach  and  buried  him- 
self in  the  jungle.  The  stranded  ship  had 
emptied  herself  as  by  magic.  It  was  concluded 
150 


A  FAT  RASCAL  COMES  TO  GRIEF 

that  General  Quesada  had  been  among  the 
crowd  which  filled  the  boats  and  floundered 
pell-mell  through  the  surf. 

"The  boss  pirate  got  away  from  us,"  dis- 
gustedly exclaimed  Jack  Devlin. 

"There  is  no  use  chasing  them  through  the 
jungle,"  said  the  captain  of  marines.  "They 
will  scatter  like  a  bunch  of  fire-crackers,  and  we 
should  be  tangled  up  and  lost  in  no  time." 

"I  did  not  see  Goodwin  anywhere,"  replied 
Devlin,  looking  very  anxious. 

"  The  hull  of  the  Juan  Lopez  was  between  us 
and  the  boats,  so  that  we  couldn't  see  all  of  them 
go  ashore.  Goodwin  may  have  been  taken  into 
the  jungle.  If  he  had  been  left  behind  on  the 
ship,  he  would  be  making  signals  to  us  by  now." 

"He  would  if  he  were  alive,"  dolefully  mut- 
tered the  steam-shovel  man. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

LOCKED  in  a  room  of  General  Quesada's 
house,  Walter  Goodwin  felt  acutely  sorry  that 
he  had  not  minded  his  own  business.  He  ought 
to  have  reported  his  suspicions  to  the  American 
officials  of  the  Canal  Zone.  In  his  rash  eager- 
ness to  play  a  man's  part  he  had  undertaken  a 
task  too  big  for  him.  He  was  badly  frightened, 
and  yet  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  realize 
that  serious  danger  threatened  him. 

Waiting  in  the  darkened  room,  he  heard  the 
boat's  crew  make  a  landing  at  the  sea-wall 
near  by.  Instead  of  passing  into  the  street, 
they  turned  and  began  to  climb  the  stone  stair- 
case, in  the  rear  of  the  house.  Their  talk  had 
ceased.  One  of  them  laughed  and  another 
hushed  him  with  a  low  command.  There  was 
something  sinister  in  this  approach.  Walter 
surmised  that  their  errand  might  concern  him. 
Into  his  mind  came  the  tales  he  had  read  of  wild, 
152 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

cruel  deeds  done  in  this  Bay  of  Panama  in  days 
gone  by. 

The  men  from  the  boat  halted  on  the  stair- 
case, and  presently  Walter  heard  the  rumbling 
undertones  of  General  Quesada.  A  door  was 
opened,  and  the  swarthy  sailors  from  the  Juan 
Lopez  filed  into  the  room.  They  closed  around 
Walter  as  if  intending  to  take  him  with  them. 
He  wanted  to  motion  them  away,  to  show  them 
that  he  was  an  American,  that  he  could  take 
his  medicine  like  a  man,  but,  alas!  the  brave, 
boyish  impulse  came  to  naught.  He  could  only 
stare  stupidly  at  one  and  the  other,  as  if  be- 
seeching them  to  reveal  their  purpose.  The 
mate  in  charge  of  the  party,  a  sprightly,  shock- 
headed  fellow  with  gold  rings  in  his  ears,  liked 
the  lad  because  he  made  no  foolish  outcry,  and 
tried  to  cheer  him  with  a  friendly  grin. 

They  escorted  him  to  the  sea-wall  and  thrust 
him  into  the  boat.  If  he  shouted  for  help,  only 
the  Panamanian  sentries  posted  along  the  an- 
cient fortification  would  hear  him.  It  was  no 
business  of  theirs  if  a  sailor  was  being  carried 
off  to  his  ship.  In  the  stern  loomed  the  broad, 
shapeless  figure  of  General  Quesada.  The  oars 
made  bright  flashes  in  the  phosphorescent 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

waters  of  the  bay,  and  the  boat  moved  out  into 
the  silent  night. 

Walter  comprehended  that  he  was  being 
carried  on  board  the  Juan  Lopez,  because  Gen- 
eral Quesada  was  afraid  to  leave  him  behind 
as  a  witness  of  his  misdeeds.  It  was  a  most 
alarming  situation,  but  Walter  was  comforted 
by  the  hope  that  Captain  Brincker  would  be- 
friend him  during  the  filibustering  voyage.  The 
soldier  of  fortune  was  the  most  masterful  man 
of  the  rascally  company  and  was  likely  to  hold 
the  upper  hand. 

At  length  the  low  hull  of  the  laden  steamer 
was  discernible  in  the  star-lit  darkness.  A 
gangway  had  been  lowered,  and  after  General 
Quesada  had  clumsily  clambered  to  the  deck, 
Walter  followed  with  the  help  of  the  good- 
natured  mate.  He  was  promptly  shoved  into 
a  small  deck-house  and  left  to  wonder  miser- 
ably what  would  happen  next.  There  was  much 
commotion  in  the  steamer.  From  the  loud  talk, 
Walter  gathered  that  she  was  ready  to  sail  as 
soon  as  Captain  Brincker  should  come  on  board. 
The  forlorn  lad  anxiously  listened  for  the  strong 
voice  of  the  soldier  of  fortune. 

A  sailor  entered  the  deck-house  on  some  hasty 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

errand  and  left  the  door  unfastened.  Walter 
ventured  outside  and  was  unnoticed  in  the  con- 
fusion. Leaning  over  the  rail,  he  gazed  at  the 
lights  of  Ancon  and  thought  of  his  stanch 
friends  Jack  Devlin  and  Alfaro.  They  would 
not  know  what  had  become  of  him.  They  were 
powerless  to  aid  him. 

A  gasolene  launch  was  coming  toward  the 
steamer  from  the  direction  of  Panama.  The 
filibustering  crew  was  more  noisily  excited  than 
ever.  Captain  Brincker  was  expected  to  come 
off  from  shore  in  a  row-boat.  This  sputtering 
launch  was  instantly  suspected.  The  Juan 
Lopez  was  a  steamer  with  an  uneasy  conscience, 
quick  to  take  alarm.  Her  hull  began  to  vibrate 
to  the  clangorous  beat  of  her  engines  as  she  pre- 
pared to  take  flight. 

The  launch  swung  in  a  wide  arc  to  pass 
close  alongside.  General  Quesada  was  hailed 
in  Spanish  and  told  to  wait  for  an  important 
interview.  He  was  not  inclined  to  parley.  All 
he  could  think  of  was  that  the  American  author- 
ities wished  to  overhaul  and  search  the  steamer, 
and  he  frantically  ordered  her  to  make  for  the 
open  sea  at  top  speed. 

i5S 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

The  voice  from  the  launch  had  sounded 
familiar  to  Walter  Goodwin.  Hope  leaped  in 
his  heart.  His  friends  were  trying  to  rescue 
him.  Before  he  could  call  out,  Fernandez 
Garcia  Alfaro  was  shouting  to  him  in  English: 

"Ho,  there,  Goodwin!  We  are  wide  awake. 
Keep  your  courage.  We  will  not  give  you  up!" 

Walter  tried  to  yell  a  glad  response,  but  a 
hand  was  clapped  over  his  mouth,  and  he  was 
roughly  dragged  back  into  the  deck-house.  For 
the  moment  disappointment  overwhelmed  him, 
but  he  found  consolation  in  the  fact  that  his 
friends  had  traced  and  followed  him.  Other- 
wise he  would  have  felt  quite  hopeless,  for  the 
Juan  Lopez  had  sailed  without  Captain  Brincker 
and  there  was  no  one  to  stand  between  him  and 
the  ruffianly  vengeance  of  General  Quesada. 

The  general  was  too  busy  during  the  night  to 
pay  heed  to  his  prisoner.  He  sorely  needed  the 
seasoned  soldier  of  fortune  to  handle  the  lawless 
crew.  The  encounter  with  the  launch  had  made 
him  fear  pursuit,  and  his  martial  spirit  was  con- 
siderably harassed.  He  blamed  Walter  Good- 
win as  the  source  of  his  woes,  and  yearned  to 
knock  the  meddlesome  young  passenger  on  the 
156 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

head  and  toss  him  overboard.  This  was  not 
feasible,  however,  because  although  the  ship's 
company  was  ripe  for  revolution,  rebellion,  or 
piracy  on  the  high  seas,  they  would  draw  the 
line  at  cold-blooded  murder.  It  seemed  an 
easier  solution  of  the  problem  to  take  Goodwin 
ashore  with  the  expedition  and  conveniently 
lose  him  in  the  jungle  of  San  Salvador. 

"He  looks  at  me  like  the  cat  that  swallowed 
the  canary, ' '  sighed  Walter  next  morning.  "Oh, 
if  my  right  arm  was  only  well  and  sound,  I 
might  fight  my  way  out  of  this  fix  somehow. 
But  I  just  can't  believe  that  things  won't  come 
my  way." 

There  were  several  English-speaking  advent- 
urers on  board,  recruited  from  the  ranks  of  the 
"tropical  tramps"  of  Colon  and  Panama,  and 
General  Quesada  was  unwilling  to  have  Walter 
make  their  acquaintance.  His  story  might  en- 
list their  sympathy.  He  was  therefore  removed 
from  the  deck-house  and  put  in  a  small  state- 
room below.  A  sentry  was  posted  outside  the 
door,  and  a  boy  from  the  galley  brought  the 
rough  rations  served  out  to  the  crew. 

It  was  a  tedious  imprisonment,  with  nothing 
157 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

to  do  but  lie  in  the  bunk,  or  walk  to  and  fro 
three  steps  each  way,  or  gaze  through  the  round 
port-hole  at  the  shining,  monotonous  expanse 
of  ocean.  Now  and  then  the  deck  above  his 
head  resounded  to  the  measured  tramp  of  many 
feet  and  the  cadenced  rattle  of  breech-blocks 
and  bayonets.  Rifles  had  been  broken  out  of 
the  cargo,  and  the  landing  party  was  being 
drilled. 

The  boldly  romantic  character  of  the  voyage 
made  Walter's  blood  tingle.  To  be  afloat  with 
these  modern  buccaneers  who  were  bound  out  to 
raid  the  Spanish  Main  was  like  a  dream  come 
true.  But  he  had  no  part  in  it.  He  was  some- 
thing to  be  got  rid  of.  Youth  is  not  easily  dis- 
mayed, however,  and  the  whole  experience  was 
too  fantastic,  too  incredible,  for  Walter  to  re- 
gard his  plight  as  gravely  as  the  facts  warranted. 

On  the  second  day  at  sea,  he  was  staring 
through  the  open  port,  sadly  thinking  about  the 
fond  household  in  Wolverton.  There  was  a 
sudden  shouting  on  deck.  The  engines  of  the 
Juan  Lopez  clanked  and  groaned  as  if  they  were 
being  driven  beyond  the  limit  of  safety,  and 
every  beam  and  plate  and  rivet  of  the  rusty  hull 
158 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

protested  loudly.  Some  one  ran  through  the 
cabin  shouting: 

"They  are  after  us,  all  right.  This  blighted 
old  hooker  can't  get  away." 

Walter  cheered  and  jubilantly  pounded  the 
door  with  his  undamaged  fist.  A  faster  steamer 
was  chasing  the  Juan  Lopez.  It  must  have  been 
sent  out  from  the  Canal  Zone.  Poking  his 
head  through  the  port,  he  squirmed  as  far  as 
his  shoulders  would  let  him.  Far  astern  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  black,  sea-going  tug  of 
large  tonnage,  whose  tall  prow  was  flinging 
aside  the  foam  in  snowy  clouds. 

Soon  the  Juan  Lopez  sharply  altered  her 
course  and  began  to  edge  in  toward  the  coast. 
From  this  new  angle  Walter  was  able  to  watch 
the  tug  draw  nearer  and  nearer  until  he  could 
make  out  the  khaki  uniforms  of  the  marines 
massed  forward. 

"Here  is  where  General  Quesada  gets  what 
is  coming  to  him,"  he  cried  exultantly. 

He  wiped  his  eyes  and  blubbered  for  joy. 
He  was  proud  of  his  country.  There  was  no 
taking  liberties  with  Uncle  Sam  on  the  high  seas! 
A  little  later  he  became  alarmed  at  discovering 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

that  the  Juan  Lopez  was  heading  straight  for 
the  beach.  He  comprehended  the  purpose  of 
General  Quesada.  The  steamer  was  to  be 
rammed  ashore  and  the  crew  would  escape 
into  the  jungle.  They  might  take  Walter 
with  them,  beyond  all  reach  of  rescue. 

Now  the  bullets  from  the  tug  began  to  rattle 
against  the  fleeing  steamer  or  to  buzz  overhead. 
Walter  dodged  away  from  the  port-hole  and 
tried  to  kick  the  state-room  door  from  its  hinges. 
He  could  hear  the  crew  working  in  wild  haste 
to  cast  loose  and  lower  the  boats.  From  the 
hold  came  a  tremendous  roar  of  steam.  The 
Juan  Lopez  was  in  danger  of  blowing  up  before 
she  stranded. 

Then  there  came  a  rending  shock  as  she 
struck  the  beach.  Walter  was  thrown  from  his 
feet  and  dazed,  but  he  managed  to  scramble  to 
the  port-hole,  where  he  could  see  the  crew  diving 
overboard  and  fleeing  through  the  surf.  Others 
were  tumbling  pell-mell  into  the  boats.  In  any 
other  circumstances  the  flight  of  these  bold  rev- 
olutionists would  have  been  vastly  amusing. 

Walter  began  to  hope  that  he  had  been  for- 
gotten in  the  panic.  As  soon  as  the  ship  was 
1 60 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

deserted  he  would  smash  the  flimsy  door  and 
gain  the  deck,  where  he  could  signal  the  other 
vessel  and  let  his  friends  know  that  he  was  alive 
and  well. 

Before  he  could  break  his  way  out,  the  door 
was  hastily  unlocked,  and  there  stood  General 
Quesada,  perspiring  freely  and  greatly  excited. 
He  had  delayed  to  get  his  precious  prisoner 
who  knew  too  much.  Carelessly  assuming  that 
in  his  disabled  condition  Walter  could  make 
no  resistance,  he  proposed  to  take  him  from 
the  ship  single-handed.  In  expecting  meek 
obedience  he  was  guilty  of  a  serious  error  of 
judgment.  With  rescue  so  near,  the  robust 
youth  was  in  no  mood  to  obey  the  beckoning 
gesture. 

He  objected  to  being  led  into  the  jungle,  and 
his  objection  was  sudden  and  violent.  His  wits 
were  working  as  nimbly  as  if  he  were  pitching 
a  championship  game  of  base-ball.  This  was 
his  first  chance  to  meet  the  enemy  on  anything 
like  even  terms.  And  he  had  a  large-sized 
score  to  settle  with  General  Quesada.  Walter 
would  have  preferred  a  hickory  broom-handle 
and  plenty  of  room  to  swing  it,  but  without 
161 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

weapons  of  any  kind  and  only  one  good  arm  he 
must  choose  new  tactics. 

General  Quesada  stood  in  the  doorway  and 
growled  impatiently  at  him.  Stepping  back  to 
gain  momentum,  Walter  lowered  his  head  and 
lunged  forward  like  a  human  battering-ram. 
He  smote  the  corpulent  general  in  the  region  of 
his  belt.  The  impact  was  terrific.  The  amazed 
warrior  doubled  up  and  sat  down  with  a  thump 
and  a  grunt,  clasping  his  fat  hands  to  his  stom- 
ach. His  appearance  was  that  of  a  man  who 
had  collided  with  a  pile-driver. 

Walter  climbed  over  his  mountainous  bulk 
and  the  general  was  too  breathless  to  utter  his 
emotions.  His  face  expressed  the  most  painful 
bewilderment.  He  had  ceased  to  take  interest 
in  his  very  urgent  affairs.  Walter  had  no  time 
to  pity  him.  He  had  resolved  to  assist  the  stern 
course  of  justice  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Using  his  left  arm  and  shoulder,  he  sturdily 
shoved  at  the  collapsed  general  until  he  had 
moved  him  inside  the  state-room.  It  was  like 
trying  to  shift  a  bale  of  cotton.  The  door 
opened  outward  into  the  main  cabin,  so  that 
Walter  was  able  to  close  and  lock  it.  Then  he 
162 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

pushed  and  dragged  a  table,  a  bench,  and  several 
chairs  to  build  a  barricade  against  the  door  as 
an  extra  precaution.  This  accomplished,  the 
weary  and  panting  youth  said  to  himself: 

"I  think  that  will  hold  him  for  a  while.  It 
was  about  time  the  worm  turned.  Now  I'm 
willing  to  call  it  quits.  And  his  crew  isn't  going 
to  bother  to  look  for  him." 

This  was  a  sound  conclusion.  It  was  a  case 
of  every  man  for  himself.  They  were  entirely 
too  busy  trying  to  outrun  the  bullets  of  the 
marines  to  concern  themselves  about  the  fate 
of  General  Quesada.  He  could  not  even  yell 
to  them  to  wait  for  him,  because  the  collision 
with  Walter's  hard  head  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  remain  seated  on  the  floor,  still  pen- 
sively clasping  his  belt  and  wondering  what 
had  happened  to  him. 

Walter  was  for  taking  no  chances  with  his 
prize.  Perching  himself  upon  the  barricade,  he 
waited  for  the  boarding-party  from  the  tug  to 
find  him.  The  ship  became  silent  except  for 
the  shriek  of  the  steam  from  the  safety-valves. 
Walter  was  left  in  sole  command  to  enjoy  the 
situation.  Presently  General  Quesada  showed 
163 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

symptoms  of  reviving.  He  lifted  his  voice  in  a 
quavering  appeal  to  his  comrades  in  arms,  but 
they  had  disappeared  beyond  the  green  curtain 
of  the  jungle.  Walter  listened  to  the  plaintive 
wail  and  gloated.  He  was  not  vindictive  by 
nature,  but  there  was  such  a  thing  as  righteous 
retribution.  When  General  Quesada  became 
more  vigorous  and  began  to  kick  the  door, 
Walter  addressed  him  soothingly  and  advised 
him  to  be  calm. 

When  the  party  of  marines  reached  the 
steamer,  Jack  Devlin  was  one  of  the  first  to 
scramble  on  deck.  The  voice  of  this  faithful 
friend  came  down  the  companion-way  to  Walter. 

"He  is  not  in  the  ship,  you  can  take  my  word 
for  it.  He  would  have  surely  shown  himself  by 
now." 

"Oh,  don't  look  so  sad-eyed  and  hopeless 
until  we  make  a  search,"  replied  the  captain  of 
marines.  "I  can't  believe  that  he  was  put  out 
of  the  way  during  the  voyage.  And  we  didn't 
see  him  taken  ashore." 

Walter  kept  silent.  This  was  the  most  de- 
lightful moment  of  his  life.  Presently  Devlin 
came  downstairs  into  the  cabin.  The  place 
164 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

was  gloomy  after  the  dazzling  sunshine  above, 
and  he  halted  to  get  his  bearings.  Then  moving 
forward,  he  almost  stumbled  into  the  barricade 
of  furniture.  Walter  leaned  over,  grasped  him 
by  the  shoulder,  and  exclaimed: 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  aboard.  Did  you  have 
a  pleasant  trip?" 

The  steam-shovel  man  jumped  back,  and 
emitted  a  yell  which  could  have  been  no  louder 
if  he  had  been  clutched  by  a  ghost. 

"Are  you  honestly  alive?"  he  gasped.  "You 
blessed  young  rascal,  you!  You  scared  me  out 
of  a  year's  growth." 

"Of  course  I  am  alive,  and  doing  very  nicely, 
thank  you.  How  in  the  world  did  you  happen 
to  get  on  my  trail?  And  what  about  the  tug 
and  the  rest  of  the  outfit?" 

Walter  tried  to  make  his  voice  sound  as  if 
this  were  a  commonplace  meeting,  but  his  eyes 
twinkled  with  mischief  as  he  thought  of  the 
second  surprise  in  store  for  the  steam-shovel 
man. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  when  you  are  safe 
aboard  the  Dauntless  yonder,"  said  Devlin. 
"And  what  are  you  doing  roosting  on  that  heap 
165 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

of  furniture  like  a  crazy  hen?  Oh  my,  but  I'm 
sorry  General  Quesada  got  away  from  you. 
We  surely  did  pine  to  lug  him  back  to  Panama 
with  us." 

The  hapless  general  in  the  state-room  had 
become  silent,  for  he  was  reluctant  to  draw 
the  attention  of  the  American  party.  Walter 
chuckled  as  he  replied: 

"I  have  a  present  for  you.  It  is  a  big  one. 
If  you  really  want  General  Quesada,  you  can 
have  him  with  my  compliments." 

"You're  joking,  boy.  He  is  boring  a  large 
hole  in  the  jungle  by  this  time." 

"He  wishes  he  was.  Open  this  door  behind 
me  and  see  what  you  find." 

Devlin  tossed  the  furniture  aside  and  entered 
the  state-room.  General  Quesada  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  bunk  and  appeared  very  low- 
spirited.  Just  then  the  captain  of  the  marines 
came  below  with  a  dozen  privates  at  his  heels. 
The  steam-shovel  man  loudly  summoned  them, 
adding  with  tremendous  gusto: 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  Goodwin    was  the 
finest  lad  that  ever  happened?    All  he  needed 
was  a  chance  to  get  into  action." 
166 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

They  cheered  for  Goodwin,  and  cordially  in- 
vited General  Quesada  to  surrender  and  end 
the  war. 

"You  would  steal  Uncle  Sam's  groceries  and 
go  skylarking  off  to  start  trouble  in  the  cute 
little  republic  of  San  Salvador,  would  you?" 
playfully  remarked  a  sergeant  of  marines.  "I 
never  had  a  chance  to  talk  plain  to  a  real  live 
general.  Step  lively,  now.  No  impudence." 

The  general  was  permitted  to  get  his  per- 
sonal baggage,  after  which  the  marines  escorted 
him  to  the  Dauntless,  where  his  fallen  fortunes 
met  with  little  sympathy.  He  was  a  sullen, 
despondent  figure  and  not  a  trace  of  his  pom- 
pous bearing  was  left. 

The  sea  was  so  smooth  and  the  weather  indi- 
cations so  favorable  that  it  was  decided  to 
salvage  the  cargo  of  the  Juan  Lopez.  Her  arms 
and  munitions  and  supplies  were  valuable  and 
would  be  confiscated  by  the  American  govern- 
ment after  due  process  of  the  law.  The  transfer 
had  to  be  made  in  small  boats,  and  was  a  task 
requiring  two  or  three  days.  The  Juan  Lopez 
was  hopelessly  stranded.  She  would  soon  go 
to  pieces,  a  melancholy  memorial  of  a  Spanish- 
167 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

American  revolution  that  was  nipped  in  the 
bud. 

Walter  Goodwin  was  in  danger  of  being 
spoiled  by  the  marines  who  petted  and  pam- 
pered him,  and  were  never  tired  of  hearing  him 
spin  the  yarn  of  his  adventures  which  began 
with  the  episode  of  the  parrot  and  the  broom- 
stick. Their  surgeon  attended  to  the  injured 
arm,  and  found  that  it  was  little  the  worse  for 
the  rough  usage  of  the  voyage.  His  verdict  was 
so  encouraging  that  Walter  could  hope  to  play 
base-ball  before  the  Isthmian  League  finished  its 
winter  season. 

This  aroused  violent  argument  on  board  the 
Dauntless.  A  war  of  words  raged  over  Walter's 
services  as  a  pitcher.  Jack  Devlin  set  up  a 
claim  in  behalf  of  Culebra,  because  he  had  en- 
gineered the  rescue. 

"All  obligations  to  Naughton  and  those  other 
Cristobal  robbers  are  wiped  out,"  cried  he.  "If 
I  hadn't  set  out  to  find  you  and  stuck  to  it 
like  a  terrier  at  a  rat-hole,  where  would  you  be 
now?" 

"Camp  Elliot  has  a  pretty  fast  nine,"  chimed 
in  the  captain  of  marines,  "and  Goodwin  fairly 
168 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

belongs  to  us.  Didn't  we  have  a  lot  to  do  with 
getting  him  back?" 

"I  really  belong  to  Cristobal—"  Walter  tried 
to  explain,  but  Devlin  cut  the  discussion  short 
by  declaring: 

"We'll  put  it  up  to  Colonel  Gunther  for  a 
decision." 

After  one  of  these  good-natured  altercations, 
Walter  called  the  steam-shovel  man  aside  and 
anxiously  told  him: 

"It  is  all  very  fine  to  be  called  a  hero  and 
to  be  in  such  demand  as  a  pitcher,  but  it  doesn't 
make  me  very  happy.  I  came  to  the  Isthmus 
to  look  for  a  job  on  the  gold  roll  and  I  seem  to 
be  getting  farther  away  from  it  all  the  time. 
I  am  broke  and  my  folks  at  home  don't  know 
where  I  am,  and  I  don't  seem  to  be  giving  them 
a  lift  very  fast." 

Devlin  was  instantly  attentive  and  serious. 
It  seemed  to  strike  him  for  the  first  time  that 
being  rescued  was  not  a  part  of  Walter's  real 
programme. 

"Of  course,  I  thought  you  ought  to  be  pretty 
well  satisfied  with  yourself,"  said  he.  "You 
have  kicked  up  a  most  amazing  rumpus  for 
169 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

a  lad  of  your  tender  years.    Now,  about  a 
job- 

"Don't  think  me  ungrateful,"  broke  in 
Walter.  "I  don't  deserve  all  this  wonderful 
friendship  and  kindness.  I  am  just  worried 
about  things,  that's  all,  and  I  want  your  advice." 

"You  are  perfectly  right,  my  boy.  You  are 
keeping  your  eye  on  the  ball.  In  the  first  place, 
the  colonel  himself  is  interested  in  you.  He 
ought  to  be.  You  made  trouble  enough  for 
him.  And  Major  Glendinning  will  forgive  you 
for  trying  to  stop  that  landslide  in  the  cut.  You 
have  recovered  a  good  many  dollars'  worth  of 
commissary  supplies  for  him,  and  that  thief 
of  a  checker  has  been  gotten  rid  of.  You  can 
take  it  from  me  that  he  hasn't  been  seen  since. 
Your  stock  ought  to  be  way  above  par  by  now." 

"Do  you  really  think  there  will  be  something 
for  me  to  do?"  asked  Walter. 

"If  there  isn't,  I'll  recommend  you  to  the 
colonel  for  the  job  of  suppressing  Spanish- 
American  revolutions  with  neatness  and  de- 
spatch. The  Panama  republic  and  San  Salvador 
between  them  ought  to  reward  you  handsomely 
for  putting  the  lid  on  General  Quesada." 
170 


WALTER  SQUARES  AN  ACCOUNT 

"Maybe  my  luck  has  turned,"  was  Walter's 
hopeful  comment. 

"If  it  hasn't,  my  son,  you  can  set  me  down 
as  a  mighty  poor  guesser." 


171 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

FOR  the  present  Walter  Goodwin  may  safely 
be  left  on  board  the  sea-going  tug  Dauntless  in 
charge  of  the  faithful  Jack  Devlin  and  the  ad- 
miring marines.  Some  attention  should  be  paid 
to  the  parents  and  the  sister  whom  he  had  left 
behind  in  Wolverton.  Their  affairs  may  seem 
very  prosaic  after  the  crowded  experiences  of 
the  only  son  by  land  and  sea,  but  nevertheless 
they  deserve  to  be  accounted  for. 

As  the  waiting  days  wore  on,  the  house  seemed 
to  echo  with  loneliness.  Walter  had  filled  it 
with  lusty  clatter  and  activity,  and  the  very 
disorder  he  had  always  left  in  his  wake  was  an 
intimate  part  of  the  family  life.  There  was  a 
jubilee  when  his  first  letter  arrived  from  the 
Isthmus,  telling  them  of  a  safe  voyage  and  of 
finding  employment  on  the  very  day  he  landed. 
Because  the  thoughtful  youth  made  no  mention 
172 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

of  the  dynamite  ship,  the  household  became 
more  cheerful  and  less  anxious.  Walter  was  the 
most  wonderful  boy  in  the  world. 

Several  days  after  this  they  received  two 
letters  in  the  same  mail,  which  caused  alarm 
and  bewilderment.  One  of  them  had  been 
dictated  to  Naughton  in  the  Ancon  hospital, 
the  other  written  and  signed  by  the  impulsive 
Jack  Devlin.  They  told  the  news  of  Walter's 
accident  and  this  was  very  disturbing  in  itself, 
but,  alas,  the  well-meaning  attempt  of  the 
steam-shovel  man  to  send  solid  aid  and  com- 
fort by  means  of  a  money-order  inspired  the 
most  alarming  conjectures. 

Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin  was  a  man  of  a  prac- 
tical turn  of  mind,  and  he  sounded  the  first  note 
of  misgiving  when  he  told  his  wife  and  daughter: 

"I  cannot  understand  it  at  all.  Walter  has 
been  hurt,  but  he  sends  us  no  details  whatever. 
In  this  letter,  which  he  dictated  from  the  hos- 
pital, he  tells  us  a  great  deal  of  interesting  news 
about  the  Panama  Canal,  but  it  sounds  as  if 
it  had  been  written  by  a  man  thoroughly  famil- 
iar with  the  work." 

"Walter  is  very  bright—"  began  Eleanor. 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"He  never  shone  at  English  composition," 
sighed  her  mother. 

"And  I  am  quite  sure  he  is  not  a  trained  en- 
gineer," added  Mr.  Goodwin.  "The  letter  is 
not  like  Walter  at  all,  and  as  for  this  money- 
order  for  forty  dollars  enclosed  in  the  brief  note 
from  Jack  Devlin " 

Mrs.  Goodwin  no  more  than  half  heard  this 
speech.  She  was  wondering  whether  Walter 
was  really  having  good  care.  How  dreadfully 
forlorn  it  must  be  hi  a  hospital  two  thousand 
miles  from  home!  Supposing  one  of  those 
horrid  mosquitoes  that  carry  yellow-fever  should 
fly  in  and  bite  him? 

"Bless  his  heart!"  cried  she.  "And  we  have 
no  idea  of  what  has  happened  to  him.  And  to 
think  of  his  sending  money  to  us  when  I  am 
quite  sure  he  must  need  it  for  himself!  It  is 
just  like  him." 

"He  was  probably  hurt  while  trying  to  save 
somebody's  life,"  quoth  dewy-eyed  Eleanor. 
"This  Mr.  Devlin  says  that  poor  Walter  was 
a  bit  mussed  up.  It  sounds  perfectly  awful, 
doesn't  it?" 

Mr.  Goodwin  shook  his  head  and  appeared 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

more  than  ever  perplexed  as  he  reread  the  two 
letters  and  laid  them  side  by  side  on  the  sit- 
ting-room table,  with  the  mysterious  money- 
order  between  them. 

"You  two  hero- worshippers  do  not  seem  to 
realize  what  an  extraordinary  affair  this  is," 
said  he.  "In  his  own  letter  Walter  makes  no 
mention  of  sending  money.  And  in  the  same 
mail  comes  this  large  remittance  on  account  of 
Walter's  salary,  and  it  is  enclosed  by  one  Devlin, 
who  seems  to  have  no  official  position  on  the 
Isthmus." 

"He  is  the  steam-shovel  man  who  filled 
Walter  with  the  notion  of  going  to  the  Isth- 
mus," said  Mrs.  Goodwin.  "Walter  thought 
he  was  a  splendid  fellow." 

"But  Walter  knew  nothing  about  him.  And 
it  is  out  of  the  question  that  a  boy  like  him 
should  be  given  forty  dollars  in  advance  by  a 
government  department  only  a  few  days  after 
his  arrival  on  the  Isthmus." 

"Walter  must  have  made  a  wonderfully  fine 
impression,"  argued  the  doting  mother.  "He 
was  worrying  about  us,  and  he  asked  Mr. 
Devlin  to  look  after  his  affairs  and  mail  some 
money  to  us." 

175 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

This  sounded  plausible,  provided  one  took 
an  exceedingly  rosy  view  of  Walter's  earning 
capacity,  and  as  Mrs.  Goodwin  and  Eleanor 
regarded  it,  nothing  was  too  extraordinary  to 
happen  on  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  But  after 
Eleanor  had  gone  to  bed  Mr.  Goodwin  eyed  the 
baffling  money-order  and  lost  himself  in  medi- 
tative silence.  At  length  his  wife  reminded 
him: 

"You  have  been  staring  at  that  table  long 
enough,  Horatio.  And  you  are  worrying  more 
and  more.  Of  course,  all  I  can  think  of  is  that 
Walter  is  ill  and  needs  his  mother.  I  hope  his 
next  letter  will  explain  everything." 

"He  is  the  only  boy  we  have,  and  I  wish  he 
was  at  home,"  said  Mr.  Goodwin  in  a  low  voice. 
His  shoulders  sagged  more  than  usual  and  his 
face  was  white  and  tired.  The  absent  son  was 
tugging  at  his  heart-strings.  Unconsciously  he 
let  his  glance  dwell  on  the  shabby  old  easy- 
chair  in  which  Walter  had  been  wont  to  fling 
himself  after  supper  and  study  his  high-school 
text-books. 

"Why,  Horatio,  you  look  as  if  you  thought 
something  serious  might  have  happened  to 
him,"  exclaimed  his  wife.  "I  confess  that  I 
176 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

am  very  low  in  my  mind,  but  mothers  are  silly 
creatures.  Are  you  very  anxious?" 

"You  and  I  have  never  hidden  anything  from 
each  other,  my  dear,"  he  slowly  answered. 
"Neither  of  these  letters  is  from  Walter  him- 
self. They  make  me  feel  as  if  we  had  not  really 
heard  from  him.  If  some  one  had  a  motive  for 
wishing  us  to  believe  that  we  need  have  no 
anxiety  about  Walter,  this  money  might  have 
been  sent  for  a  purpose,  to  keep  us  quiet." 

"A  bad  motive?  These  letters  were  meant 
to  deceive  us?"  quavered  Mrs.  Goodwin,  and 
then  she  rallied  to  say  with  the  most  emphatic 
decision,  "I  don't  care  if  it  costs  a  dollar  a 
word,  Horatio,  I  want  you  to  send  a  cable 
message  to  the  hospital  as  soon  as  the  office 
opens  to-morrow  morning.  I  would  gladly  sell 
every  stick  of  furniture  hi  the  house  to  be 
sure  of  getting  a  reply  from  Walter  within 
the  next '  twenty-four  hours,  and  so  would 
you." 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  had  decided  to  do," 

he  exclaimed  with  an  approving  smile.     "I 

indorse  your  ultimatum,  my  dear.     We  shall 

hear  from  Walter  to-morrow,  and  then  we'll  be 

177 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

laughing  at  each  other  for  borrowing  so  much 
trouble." 

It  therefore  happened  that  before  noon  of 
the  following  day  there  was  delivered  to  the 
surgeon  of  the  accident  ward  a  message,  which 
read  thus: 

Goodwin  hospital  Ancon. 
Cable  me  is  all  well. 

Father. 

The  surgeon  sighed  as  if  here  was  a  hard 
nut  to  crack.  This  was  only  the  day  after 
Walter  Goodwin  had  vanished  from  the  hos- 
pital, to  the  consternation  of  his  friends,  Devlin 
and  Alfaro.  They  had  hurried  into  Panama  in 
search  of  him  and  no  word  had  come  back  to 
the  surgeon. 

"I  have  no  idea  where  Goodwin  is,"  he  said 
to  a  friend  of  the  hospital  staff.  "He  failed  to 
turn  up  here  last  night,  and  I  guess  his  friends 
couldn't  find  him.  They  were  afraid  he  was  in 
trouble." 

"What  will  you  do  with  the  cablegram?" 

"I  think  I  had  better  hold  it  for  two  or  three 
days  before  I  try  to  answer  it  myself.  Devlin 
178 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

or  that  impetuous  young  diplomat  from  Co- 
lombia may  drift  in  and  tell  me  some  news. 
And  Goodwin  himself  may  reappear.  I  hate 
to  cable  the  agitated  parent  that  his  son's 
whereabouts  are  unknown.  It  would  be  like 
looking  for  a  needle  in  a  hay-stack  for  me  to 
try  to  find  him  in  Panama." 

The  surgeon  tucked  the  message  in  his  pocket 
and  went  to  join  his  white-clad  fellows  in  the 
operating-room.  He  was  a  very  busy  young 
man,  and  there  was  no  time  in  his  crowded  day 
to  investigate  the  disappearance  of  Walter 
Goodwin.  And  inasmuch  as  the  Dauntless  and 
the  marines  had  been  sent  to  sea  with  very 
little  publicity,  several  days  passed  before  the 
story  of  the  pursuit  of  the  Juan  Lopez  reached 
the  hospital. 

Meanwhile  that  anxious  parent,  Mr.  Horatio 
Goodwin,  had  found  it  difficult  to  give  proper 
attention  to  his  book-keeping  duties  in  the  office 
of  the  coal-dealer  in  Wolverton.  He  started 
nervously  when  any  one  entered  the  place  and 
his  eye  was  alert  for  the  cap  and  buttons  of  a 
telegraph-messenger  boy.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  day  of  waiting,  he  trudged  homeward  in  a 
179 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

state  of  mind  distraught  and  downcast.  His 
wife  was  grievously  disappointed  that  no  word 
had  come  from  Walter,  but  Eleanor  main- 
tained her  blithe  spirits.  She  had  suddenly 
decided  to  become  a  sculptor  and  labored  until 
bedtime  over  a  sticky  lump  of  modelling  clay. 

"This  is  a  bust  of  Walter,"  she  announced. 
"It  looks  as  if  his  face  had  been  stepped  on, 
but  the  firmly  moulded  chin  is  quite  well  done, 
don't  you  think?  It  is  comforting  to  look  at 
that  sculptured  chin.  It  shows  that  Walter  can 
overcome  all  obstacles.  It  helps  to  keep  me 
from  worrying  about  him." 

Even  this  masterpiece  failed  to  console  the 
parents,  who  waited  in  vain  through  another 
long  day.  Every  little  while  Mr.  Goodwin 
darted  from  the  coal-dealer's  place  to  the  tele- 
graph office.  At  supper  he  told  his  wife: 

"There  has  been  no  interruption  in  the  cable 
service,  and  our  message  must  have  reached 
Ancon  within  two  or  three  hours  after  I  sent 
it." 

"Walter  may  have  left  the  hospital  by  this 
time,"  said  she,  "but  they  ought  to  know  his 
address." 

180 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

"Yes.  The  department  in  which  he  is  em- 
ployed should  be  able  to  locate  him  at  once. 
The  whereabouts  of  every  American  must  be 
on  record." 

Walter's  silence  tortured  them.  Like  other 
fathers  and  mothers  since  the  beginning,  they 
imagined  all  sorts  of  mischances  which  might 
have  befallen  him,  just  as  when  he  had  lingered 
after  dark  at  the  skating-pond  his  mother 
was  sure  he  had  broken  through  the  ice.  Such 
crosses  as  these  the  right  kind  of  parents  must 
bear.  It  is  part  of  the  price  they  pay.  On  the 
Isthmus  of  Panama  Walter  Goodwin  might 
consider  himself  a  man,  but  in  his  own  home, 
in  the  hearts  of  his  own  people,  he  was  still  a 
boy  to  be  watched  over,  to  be  feared  for,  to 
inspire  a  thousand  tender  anxieties  of  which 
he  would  never  be  aware. 

"It  will  be  very  hard  to  wait  for  a  letter 
from  him,"  murmured  Mrs.  Goodwin.  "I  have 
tried  to  be  brave,  but " 

"You  have  been  brave  and  fine,"  and  her 
husband  kissed  her.  "Perhaps  I  should  not 
have  let  him  go.  I  find  it  difficult  to  apply  my- 
self to  my  day's  work.  I  can  write  to  the  canal 
181 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

authorities  asking  them  to  make  a  search,  but 
we  could  not  expect  a  reply  before  three  weeks." 

At  breakfast  next  morning  Eleanor,  whose 
faith  in  the  ability  of  her  masterful  brother  to 
conquer  in  any  circumstances  was  still  unshaken, 
declared  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  solved  a 
problem: 

"If  I  were  the  parent  of  an  only  son  who  was 
lost,  strayed,  or  stolen,  do  you  know  what  I'd 
do?  I  should  take  that  money-order  that  has 
made  all  the  trouble  and  use  it  to  pay  my  way 
to  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  as  soon  as  I  could." 

"It  would  take  a  good  deal  more  than  forty 
dollars,"  replied  Mrs.  Goodwin,  "and  your 
father  could  not  leave  his  business." 

"Very  well,  but  father  can  find  another  po- 
sition, and  he  can  never  find  another  son  like 
Walter."  Eleanor's  eyes  sparkled  with  deter- 
mination. "We  may  be  poor  just  now,  but 
you  have  said  a  hundred  times  that  you  are 
rich  in  your  two  children.  It  seems  to  me  that 
you  have  lost  half  your  fortune.  At  least,  you 
don't  know  where  he  is." 

Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin  made  no  argument. 
His  gaze  was  rather  absent  as  he  sat  looking  at 
182 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

his  impulsive  daughter.  She  had  echoed  what 
was  in  his  own  mind,  but  he  could  not  make  it 
seem  practicable.  Mrs.  Goodwin  revealed  what 
was  closest  to  her  own  heart  by  exclaiming  un- ' 
steadily: 

"I  was  awake  most  of  the  night  trying  to 
plan  this  very  thing,  Horatio.  Oh,  I  want  you 
to  go  to  Panama  and  bring  Walter  straight  home 
with  you.  Why,  Eleanor  and  I  would  take  in 
washing  if  necessary.  Is  it  impossible?" 

"Nothing  is  impossible  if  you  try  hard 
enough,"  gravely  affirmed  Eleanor.  "There  is 
Joan  of  Arc,  for  instance.  She  is  my  favorite 
character  in  history.  Just  think  what  she  went 
through " 

"The  comparison  is  a  little  far-fetched,"  said 
Mr.  Goodwin,  as  he  looked  at  the  clock  and 
went  into  the  hall  to  put  on  his  overcoat.  He 
was  usually  at  his  desk  on  the  stroke  of  the 
clock,  but  now  he  lingered.  All  his  days  he  had 
walked  in  the  beaten  path  of  habit,  a  method- 
ical man  unaccustomed  to  veering  off  at  sudden 
tangents.  Now  he  had  been  violently  lifted 
from  the  rut  and  his  mind  was  in  rebellion. 
He  had  been  afraid  of  poverty,  but  this  anxiety 
183 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

was  overshadowed.  Mrs.  Goodwin  followed 
him  into  the  hall.  Her  troubled  face  was  so 
eloquent  that  he  said: 

"It  is  not  really  impossible,  my  dear.  I 
could  raise  the  money  for  the  trip,  either  on  my 
note,  or  by  placing  a  small  mortgage  on  the 
house." 

"You  need  not  worry  about  leaving  us,"  she 
replied.  "There  is  a  little  left  in  the  savings- 
bank,  and  we  can  get  along  nicely." 

"Oh,  you  blessed  daddy,"  cried  Eleanor,  her 
arms  around  his  neck.  "When  can  you  start? 
I  will  help  mother  find  your  summer  clothes  in 
the  attic,  and  pack  the  little  black  trunk.  You 
are  going  to  the  tropics,  you  know." 

"There  is  no  hurry,  my  young  fly-away. 
Matters  are  not  in  shape  to  go  at  a  moment's 
notice." 

He  was  not  as  deliberate  as  his  words  indi- 
cated. On  the  way  to  the  coal  office  he  bought 
a  New  York  newspaper  and  turned  to  the  ship- 
ping advertisements.  A  steamer  was  sched- 
uled to  sail  direct  to  Colon  that  very  afternoon 
at  five  o'clock,  and  there  would  be  no  more 
departures  for  several  days.  Mr.  Goodwin 
184 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

wore  a  hopeless  air.  It  seemed  utterly  out  of 
the  question  for  him  to  take  this  steamer, 
although  a  train  connection  from  Wolverton 
would  enable  him  to  reach  the  wharf  by  four 
o'clock.  Unreconciled  to  the  delay,  he  entered 
the  coal  office  and  listlessly  took  the  ledgers 
and  journals  from  the  safe. 

His  employer,  an  elderly  Irishman  with  a 
rough  tongue  and  a  reputation  more  or  less 
ungodly,  halted  while  passing  the  desk  and  in- 
quired: 

"What's  been  on  your  mind  for  the  last 
couple  o'  days,  Mr.  Goodwin?  You've  been 
hoppin'  in  and  out  of  here  like  a  distracted  flea. 
Anything  wrong  with  th'  strappin'  lad  that 
went  sailin'  off  to  make  his  forthune?  Has  he 
been  forgettin'  to  write  to  ye?  "Pis  the  way  of 
'em.  I  raised  five  meself." 

This  solicitude  was  unexpected,  and  Mr. 
Goodwin  stammered  in  surprised  tones: 

"Why,  thank  you.  Yes,  I  am  greatly  con- 
cerned about  Walter." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  demanded  the  other. 
"Has  he  got  himself  into  a  scrape,  or  can't  ye 
get  anny  word  from  him  at  all?" 
185 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

The  father  explained  matters,  and  the  shrewd, 
leathery  countenance  of  his  employer  ex- 
pressed lively  interest  as  he  commented: 

"Thim  Spaniards  is  a  queer  lot.  I  mistrust 
'em  on  gineral  principles.  One  of  me  own  boys 
fought  agin  'em  in  the  war,  tho'  he  was  fightin' 
typhoid-fever  germs  at  Tampa  durin'  the  whole 
of  his  enlistment.  Annyhow,  ye  ought  to  go 
down  there  right  away  an'  look  after  your  boy. 
'Tis  the  proper  thing  to  do.  Ye  have  no  lads 
19  spare." 

"I  hope  to  be  able  to  arrange  to  go,  but — but 
I  expected  to  consult  with  you — "  began  Mr. 
Goodwin. 

"You  need  not  worry  about  your  job,  if 
that's  what  you're  drivin'  at,"  exclaimed  the  old 
man.  "  'Tis  not  much  of  a  job,  but  it  will  be 
here  when  you  come  back.  As  ye  know,  keepin' 
my  books  is  no  great  undertakin'  an'  I  pay  what 
it's  worth.  It  would  go  agin  me  principles  to 
pay  more.  Have  you  enough  ready  money  to 
finance  th'  journey?  I  hope  ye  will  have  two 
fares  to  pay  comin'  back." 

"Well,  I  haven't  the  funds  just  at  present, 

but  I  may  be  able,  in  a  few  days,  to  secure 

186 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

"Quit  beatin'  about  the  bush,  Mr.  Goodwin, 
and  talk  to  me  like  a  man.  Are  you  afraid 
I'll  bite  ye?  There  ain't  a  citizen  of  Wolver- 
ton  that  stands  better  than  you.  Why  will  ye 
go  messin'  around  and  wastin'  time  tryin'  to 
raise  money?  Will  three  hundred  be  enough? 
Ye'll  find  a  way  to  pay  me  when  you  get  on 
Easy  Street  again,  and  I  will  not  burst  into 
tears  if  you  don't." 

Mr.  Goodwin  fumbled  for  his  handkerchief. 
He  had  all  the  symptoms  of  a  cold  in  the  head. 
His  employer  regarded  him  with  an  enjoyable 
grin  and  resumed: 

"You  don't  know  what  to  make  of  me  sepa- 
ratin'  meself  from  a  dollar  unless  it's  took  from 
me  by  violence.  My  dear  man,  I'm  a  phi- 
lanthropist in  disguise,  tho'  I  didn't  know  it 
meself  until  now.  When  does  a  ship  sail  to  the 
place  ye  want  to  go  to?" 

"This  afternoon.  I  can  catch  it  if  I  go  to 
New  York  at  eleven  o'clock,"  answered  the 
dazed  book-keeper. 

He  was  grasped  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  his 
hat  jammed  on  his  head,  his  overcoat  flung  at 
him,  and  as  the  strong  arm  of  the  coal  mer- 
187 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

chant  propelled  him  to  the  front  door  a  husky 
voice  roared  in  his  ear: 

"Trot  home  an'  say  good-by  to  the  wife  an' 
stop  at  the  bank  as  ye  dash  for  the  train.  The 
cash  will  be  there.  Now  shoo,  an'  God  bless 
ye!  I  have  five  of  me  own,  and  I  would  go  to  a 
hotter  place  than  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  for 
anny  one  of  them." 

Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin  ran  home  so  fast  that 
he  lost  his  breath  and  could  only  paw  the  air 
and  make  funny  noises  while  his  dismayed  wife 
hovered  over  him  and  was  undecided  whether 
to  bathe  his  head  in  cold  water  or  summon  the 
family  doctor.  He  had  begun  to  make  a  feeble 
remark  or  two  when  that  serene  damsel  Elea- 
nor laboriously  descended  the  stairs,  the  little 
black  trunk  bumping  behind  her.  She  showed 
both  insight  and  presence  of  mind  by  exclaim- 
ing: 

"He  is  not  having  a  fit,  mother,  dear.  He  is 
in  a  great  hurry  to  go  to  Panama,  and  he  isn't 
used  to  running  up  the  hill.  I  had  an  impunct 
that  he  would  come  home  this  morning,  and 
I've  been  getting  things  ready  for  him." 

"Is  the  child  dreaming?"  cried  Mrs.  Good- 
188 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

win.  "Horatio,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"Eleven  o'clock  train— steamer  this  after- 
noon —  everything  arranged  —  straight  from 
heaven — last  man  in  the  world  to  expect  it 
from — can't  understand  it — "  panted  Mr. 
Goodwin,  who  had  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
sat  with  his  legs  sticking  out  straight  in  front 
of  him. 

His  audience  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  be- 
gan to  whisk  things  into  the  little  black  trunk. 

"It  is  just  like  being  in  a  drama,"  observed 
Eleanor,  her  cheeks  as  red  as  two  roses.  "I 
may  try  to  write  a  play,  for  I  begin  to  have 
doubts  about  my  genius  as  a  sculptor.  Where 
are  father's  clean  socks,  mother?  In  the  mend- 
ing basket?" 

"Do  find  his  last  summer's  straw  hat,"  com- 
manded Mrs.  Goodwin.  "I  am  afraid  Walter 
used  it  as  a  target  and  shot  the  crown  out. 
Horatio,  do  you  suppose  a  batch  of  my  dough- 
nuts would  keep  if  I  put  them  in  a  tin  cake-box? 
Walter  simply  dotes  on  them." 

"Put  them  in  my  straw  hat?  Nonsense!" 
returned  Mr.  Goodwin,  to  whom  this  dialogue 
189 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

had  sounded  rather  confused.  "Please  tele- 
phone for  a  cab,  Eleanor.  I  wish  to  have  plenty 
of  time  at  the  station,  and  we  can  sit  down 
there  and  talk  things  over.  I  was  never  caught 
in  a  whirlwind  before  and  my  wits  seem  to  be 
considerably  scattered." 

Granted  peace  of  mind,  the  sea  voyage  to  the 
Isthmus  would  have  been  a  rare  vacation  for 
Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin.  As  it  was,  he  felt  ready 
to  risk  his  neck  in  a  flying-machine  to  reach  the 
journey's  end  as  soon  as  possible.  He  found 
the  passengers  most  cordial  and  sympathetic 
and  every  one  on  board  took  an  interest  in  his 
quest. 

As  soon  as  the  steamer  dropped  anchor  in 
Colon  harbor  the  captain  began  to  make  in- 
quiries. One  of  the  doctors  from  the  American 
quarantine  station,  who  came  on  board  to  in- 
spect the  ship's  company,  happened  to  be  a 
friend  of  Naughton,  the  dynamite  man.  He 
had  met  that  bland  gentleman  a  few  days  before 
and  obtained  from  him  an  unfinished  story 
which  was  not  calculated  to  reassure  Mr. 
Goodwin. 

"Indeed  I  have  heard  of  young  Goodwin," 
190 


A  PARENT'S  ANXIOUS  PILGRIMAGE 

said  the  doctor.  "You  see,  I  am  a  base-ball 
crank,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  expected  to  pitch 
for  Cristobal.  His  first  job  was  unloading  dyna- 
mite for  Naughton " 

" Unloading  dynamite! "  murmured  the  father 
of  Walter.  "  Was  he — was  he  blown  up?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  made  good.  The  next 
I  heard  of  him  he  was  dug  out  of  a  landslide  in 
Culebra  Cut." 

"And  did  he  survive  that?"  Mr.  Goodwin's 
knees  were  trembling,  and  he  sat  down  in  a 
deck-chair. 

"Oh,  yes.  It  didn't  damage  him  much, 
barring  a  badly  wrenched  arm  which  spoiled 
his  pitching.  He  was  in  Ancon  hospital — 

"Then  the  letters  were  all  right.  I  am  so  re- 
lieved," and  Mr.  Goodwin's  face  beamed. 
"Now  I  can  find  him  and " 

The  quarantine  doctor  looked  perplexed  and 
hesitated  before  he  replied: 

"I  hope  so.  The  last  time  I  saw  Naughton 
he  told  me  a  most  remarkable  yarn.  Young 
Goodwin  had  been  carried  to  sea  in  a  filibuster- 
ing steamer  by  a  notorious  Panamanian  named 
Quesada,  who  had  it  in  for  him.  A  govern- 
191 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

ment  tug  and  a  company  of  marines  were  sent 
in  chase." 

"And  what  then?"  Mr.  Goodwin  had  com- 
pletely wilted. 

"I  haven't  heard  the  end  of  it.  The  tug 
ought  to  be  back  by  this  time  unless  she  had 
to  run  all  the  way  to  San  Salvador.  I'm  quite 
sure  the  boy  is  all  right.  He  is  hard  to  down. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  put  you  in  touch  with  the 
right  people  as  soon  as  you  get  ashore." 

"This  all  sounds  like  the  worst  kind  of  a 
nightmare,"  wearily  muttered  Mr.  Goodwin. 
"If  I  can  find  him  I  shall  take  him  home  by 
the  first  steamer." 


192 


CHAPTER  X 

BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

ALMOST  a  week  after  the  Juan  Lopez  had  fled 
so  hastily  from  the  Bay  of  Panama,  Walter 
Goodwin  came  back  in  the  government  tug 
with  a  body-guard  of  devoted  marines.  Al- 
though he  had  managed  to  make  a  good  deal  of 
noise  in  the  world  for  a  youth  of  his  years,  he 
had  no  false  ideas  of  his  own  importance.  As 
he  looked  at  it,  he  had  made  a  muddle  of  things 
and  his  friends  had  pulled  him  out.  He  must 
show  them  that  he  could  stand  on  his  own  feet 
and  they  must  be  given  no  more  trouble  in  his 
behalf.  Before  landing  at  Balboa,  he  said  to 
Jack  Devlin: 

"Please  forget  about  me.  I  can  jump  right 
in  and  look  for  a  job." 

"Not  until  I  have  taken  you  to  the  colonel. 
Those  were  his  orders.  We'll  board  the  first 
train  to  Culebra  on  the  chance  of  rinding  him 
in  his  office." 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Did  he  really  want  to  see  me?" 

"Sure.  You  are  the  prize  disturbance  of  the 
Isthmus." 

Colonel  Gunther  was  in  consultation  with 
two  of  his  division  engineers  when  the  steam- 
shovel  man  led  Walter  in  by  the  arm.  Shoving 
aside  a  mass  of  blue-prints  and  typewritten 
data,  the  colonel  stepped  forward  and  heartily 
exclaimed: 

"Why,  here  is  the  young  man  who  was  so 
handy  with  the  broomstick!  I  am  delighted  to 
know  that  your  latest  voyage  has  turned  out 
so  well.  I  understand  that  you  bagged  General 
Quesada  as  an  incident  of  the  adventure." 

Walter  blushed  and  replied: 

"  I  had  a  lucky  chance  to  get  square  with  him, 
sir." 

"The  lad  used  his  head,  colonel,"  put  in 
Devlin,  with  a  broad  grin.  "It's  head-work 
that  counts  on  the  Isthmus,  if  you  please.  I 
have  heard  you  say  it  yourself." 

"I  can't  thank  you  enough.  I  wasn't  worth 
all  that  trouble,"  said  Walter. 

"Oh,  perhaps  you  were,"  smiled  the  colonel. 
"That  remains  to  be  seen.  Devlin  told  me 
194 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

that  you  were  looking  for  work  when  you  got 
into  this  extraordinary  scrape.  You  have  done 
the  Canal  Commission  a  considerable  service. 
Would  you  like  to  take  a  position  on  the  wharf 
at  Balboa?" 

Walter  was  about  to  answer  with  great  fervor 
when  a  tall,  spare  gentleman  in  khaki  entered 
the  office  from  another  room  and  paused  to 
survey  the  group.  Then  he  raised  his  voice 
abruptly  and  protested: 

"Pardon  me,  colonel,  but  Goodwin  belongs 
to  me.  I  saw  him  first.  With  your  permission 
I  will  use  him  in  the  Cristobal  commissary." 

"Oh,  how  are  you,  Major  Glendinning,"  and 
the  colonel  chuckled.  "Has  base-ball  anything 
to  do  with  your  lively  interest  in  this  young 
man?" 

"Officially?  No.  Between  us,  as  man  to 
man?  Yes,"  frankly  returned  the  major. 
"The  force  at  Cristobal  will  be  most  unhappy 
if  Goodwin  is  sent  to  Balboa.  They  will  con- 
sider themselves  wronged.  Their  morale  will 
be  impaired." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  The  colonel  tried  to 
look  serious.  "If  base-ball  is  really  involved, 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

I  had  better  surrender.  I  would  rather  not  add 
to  my  troubles." 

The  major  bowed  his  thanks,  and  his  stern 
features  relaxed  in  a  mischievous  smile.  Turn- 
ing to  Walter,  he  said  in  his  curt  way: 

"  Glad  to  see  you  again.  How  is  the  arm?  I 
called  at  the  hospital  to  see  you,  but  you  had 
flown  off  on  that  ridiculous  voyage.  Can  you 
steer  clear  of  landslides  and  revolutions  for  a 
while?" 

"I'll  try,  sir.  I  should  like  to  lead  a  very 
quiet  life.  I  can  pitch  again  before  long." 

The  major  glanced  at  the  colonel  and  said 
impressively  to  Walter:  "I  shall  give  you  a 
job  in  my  department,  not  on  account  of  your 
base-ball,  mind  you,  but  because  you  did  a 
clever,  plucky  piece  of  work  on  Balboa  wharf. 
Is  that  clearly  understood?" 

"Be  careful,  or  you  will  protest  too  much," 
laughed  Colonel  Gunther,  as  he  returned  to  his 
desk.  "I  think  there  is  no  question  that  Good- 
win has  earned  the  right  to  a  job  in  the  Zone." 

Jack  Devlin  shook  hands  with  Walter  and 
whispered: 

"I  had  it  in  mind  to  put  in  a  word  my- 
196 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

self.  I  want  to  break  you  in  at  firing  a  steam- 
shovel  when  you  are  strong  and  husky  again. 
But  it  would  have  started  another  row  over  the 
base-ball  end  of  it.  Major  Glendinning  is  a 
stubborn  man  to  lock  horns  with.  So  long,  my 
boy.  Your  luck  has  turned.  I'll  look  you  up 
on  my  first  day  off." 

"You  are  the  best  friend  a  fellow  ever  had," 
said  Walter. 

Two  days  later  he  was  put  on  the  gold  roll 
as  a  commissary  clerk  and  assigned  to  the 
great  warehouse  in  Cristobal,  which  was  filled 
with  groceries,  dry-goods,  hardware,  shoes, 
crockery,  candy,  and  what-not.  It  was  one 
depot  of  the  unique  system  of  store-keeping 
conducted  on  a  vast  scale  by  a  paternal  govern- 
ment. After  his  breathless  adventures,  Walter 
was  glad  to  work  with  all  his  might  at  the  hum- 
drum task  of  tallying  the  merchandise  as  it 
came  in  from  the  railroad  cars. 

He  was  thus  engaged  when  his  father  found 
him.  Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin  halted  amid  the 
boxes  and  barrels,  and  stood  staring  at  his  tall 
son  as  if  to  make  sure  that  his  vision  had  not 
tricked  him.  Walter  dropped  his  tally-sheet, 
blinked  in  his  turn  and  shouted: 
197 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

"Goodness  gracious,  father!  Is  it  you  or 
somebody  else?" 

With  this  he  made  a  violent  assault  on  his 
parent,  swung  him  clear  of  the  floor  in  a  bear- 
like  hug,  and  set  him  down  in  a  rumpled  con- 
dition. 

"Are  you  really  all  right,  Walter?"  gasped 
Mr.  Goodwin. 

"Of  course  I'm  all  right.  Can't  you  see  it 
for  yourself?  You  can't  lose  me,"  Walter  kept 
repeating  as  if  he  were  firing  minute-guns. 
"And  what  brought  you  way  down  here  from 
Wolverton?" 

Mr.  Goodwin  tried  to  explain,  but  both  were 
too  excited  to  weave  a  coherent  narrative,  and 
after  waving  his  hands  helplessly  the  father 
cried: 

"We  can  tell  all  this  later.  I  have  come  to 
take  you  home  with  me.  A  steamer  sails  for 
New  York  to-morrow." 

"To  take  me  home  with  you?"  Walter's 
face  was  dismal  beyond  words.  This  was  a 
worse  catastrophe  than  the  landslide.  "Why, 
father,  you  don't  understand.  Everything  is 
coming  my  way.  I  am  on  the  gold  roll  at 
seventy-five  per  month,  and  I  intend  to  send 
198 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

'most  half  of  it  home.  I  had  a  few  little  upsets, 
but  that's  all  past.  Do  you  honestly  mean 
it?" 

"  It  is  why  I  made  the  long  journey,"  firmly 
answered  Mr.  Goodwin.  "Your  mother  and  I 
cannot  stand  it,  Walter.  After  she  hears  of  the 
dynamite  and  the  landslide  and  the  pirates  she 
will  never  forgive  me  if  I  leave  you  here." 

"But  you  will  give  me  a  chance  to  talk  it 
over  with  you?"  implored  Walter.  "A  fellow 
can't  afford  to  have  his  career  smashed  all  to 
flinders.  Please  look  around  first  and  see  what 
a  fine  country  this  is  to  live  in.  It  is  as  quiet 
and  safe  as  Wolverton,  and  a  good  deal  health- 
ier." 

"Your  adventures  sound  like  it,"  was  Mr. 
Goodwin's  dry  comment.  "  Can  you  quit  work 
at  once  and  come  over  to  the  hotel  with 
me?" 

"Not  until  noon  and  then  I  will  knock  off 
for  dinner,  father.  It  wouldn't  be  square  to 
leave  my  job,  even  to  talk  things  over  with  you. 
Excuse  me,  but  I  must  keep  this  car-load  of 
stuff  moving." 

Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin  was  repulsed,  but  by 
199 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

no  means  vanquished.  For  all  his  mild  de- 
meanor, he  had  an  obstinate  streak,  and  his 
purpose  of  taking  Walter  home  was  unshaken. 
As  a  dutiful  son,  Walter  was  sorely  distressed. 
He  had  never  defied  his  father,  nor  did  he  wish 
to  do  so  now.  But  he  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  leaving  the  Isthmus  with  success  in  his  grasp. 
Resorting  to  strategy,  he  said  to  his  father  when 
next  they  met: 

"Now  that  you  are  here,  why  don't  you 
spend  a  week  in  seeing  the  canal?  It  is  the 
greatest  show  on  earth.  You  ought  not  to  miss 
it.  You  needn't  worry  about  me.  I  am  as 
safe  as  if  I  were  clerking  in  a  corner  grocery 
in  Wolverton." 

The  suggestion  delighted  Mr.  Goodwin,  al- 
though he  had  a  struggle  with  his  conscience  on 
the  score  of  expense.  He  ought  to  hasten  back 
to  his  desk  in  the  coal-dealer's  office.  But 
never  again  would  he  have  such  a  vacation  as 
this,  and  it  would  be  easier  to  persuade  Wal- 
ter by  pressing  the  argument  gradually.  Next 
morning  Mr.  Goodwin,  eager  and  alert,  went 
out  to  view  the  Gatun  locks  and  dam. 

Walter  toiled  in  the  commissary  and  medi- 
200 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

tated  great  thoughts.  There  must  be  some  way 
to  solve  the  problem.  He  bided  his  time  until 
Major  Glendinning,  passing  through  the  ware- 
house on  a  tour  of  inspection,  halted  to  ask: 

"How  are  you  going  to  like  the  job?" 

"Tremendously,  sir,  thank  you.  But  I  may 
have  to  resign  this  week.  My  father  has  come 
after  me." 

"What?  Does  he  think  you  are  incapable  of 
taking  care  of  yourself?"  thundered  the  major. 
"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"They  want  me  with  them  at  home.  I  am 
too  far  away  from  the  family." 

"Pshaw!  Does  your  father  need  you  in  his 
own  business?" 

"No,  sir.  His  business  doesn't  amount  to 
much  at  present.  He  was  with  the  Wolverton 
Mills  for  twenty  years  as  accountant  and  book- 
keeper  ' 

"The  mills  closed  down,"  interrupted  the 
major.  "I  used  to  purchase  from  them." 

"Yes,  sir.    My  father  is  a  first-class  man  in 

every  way,  but  times  are  dull  at  home  and — 

and —  "    Walter  mopped  his  face  and  floundered 

on,  "you  see,  I  happened  to  think  that  instead 

201 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

of  my  going  home  to  the  family,  I  might  some- 
how manage  to  bring  the  family  down  here. 
It  sounds  foolish,  but " 

Major  Glendinning  was  both  touched  and 
amused.  He  had  heard  of  Walter's  ambition 
to  "give  his  father  a  lift." 

"You  mean  to  insinuate  that  there  might 
possibly  be  an  opening  for  a  first-class  account- 
ant and  book-keeper  hi  the  canal  organization?  " 
he  queried.  "  Can  you  recommend  him?  " 

"Very  highly,"  was  Walter's  grave  reply. 
"I  have  known  him  for  seventeen  years,  and 
he  can  furnish  the  very  best  of  references." 

"Bless  me,  but  you  are  a  sort  of  continuous 
performance,"  exclaimed  Major  Glendinning. 
"  A  really  first-class  accountant  and  book-keeper ! 
Um-m!  If  you  are  a  chip  of  the  old  block,  your 
father  deserves  careful  consideration.  Such 
men  are  not  any  too  easy  to  find  for  the  office 
work  of  the  various  departments,  even  though 
the  pay-rolls  are  full." 

"He  is  at  the  Washington  Hotel  in  Colon," 
hopefully  suggested  Walter.  "Of  course,  I  am 
very  anxious  to  stay  on  the  job,  and  I  don't 

want  to  disobey  him " 

202 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

"Perhaps  you  can  persuade  him  to  file  a 
formal  application,"  said  Major  Glendinning. 

Six  weeks  later  a  holiday  crowd  assembled 
in  the  base-ball  park  at  Cristobal  to  see  an  im- 
portant game  of  the  Isthmian  League  series. 
These  hundreds  of  cheerful,  hearty  Americans 
stood  for  something  more  than  a  keen  interest  in 
the  most  popular  sport  of  their  nation.  They 
showed  that  the  pestilential  tropics  had  been 
conquered,  that  the  northern  races  could  live 
and  work  and  play  in  health  and  comfort  where 
once  the  fever-laden  Chagres  River  had  slain 
its  thousands. 

When  the  bow-legged  captain  of  the  Cris- 
tobal nine,  "Bucky"  Harrison,  led  his  men 
across  the  diamond  for  preliminary  practice, 
the  grandstand  greeted  the  pitcher  with  par- 
ticular applause.  He  was  tall  and  rugged  and  of 
a  pleasant  countenance,  and  one  might  have 
heard  the  on-lookers  remarking: 

"That  is  young  Goodwin.  Cristobal  expects 
to  win  the  championship  with  him." 

"He  is  in  the  commissary  and  doing  very 
well,  I  understand." 

"His  father  has  a  position  in  the  same  de- 
203 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

partment,  and  the  family  lives  at  Cristobal. 
The  mother  and  sister  are  sitting  over  yonder. 
Do  you  see  the  pretty  young  girl  with  the  fair 
hair  and  the  pink  cheeks?  She  is  in  the  Zone 
high-school." 

As  Walter  Goodwin  swung  his  good  right 
arm  in  "warming-up"  practice  with  the  catcher, 
he  glanced  at  the  grandstand  with  an  air  of 
pride  and  satisfaction  wholly  unselfish.  His 
venturesome  voyage  to  the  Isthmus  had  been 
tremendously  worth  while.  One  more  achieve- 
ment, and  his  cup  would  be  full  to  overflowing. 
He  must  prove  that  he  could  pitch  winning 
base-ball.  But  a  fellow  who  had  earned  a  place 
for  himself  on  the  gold  roll,  and  then  found  a 
fine  position  for  his  father,  and  moved  the 
whole  family  from  Wolverton,  ought  to  face  the 
heaviest  hitters  of  the  Culebra  nine  with  a  good 
deal  of  confidence  in  himself. 

Shortly  before  the  game  began,  Walter  spied 
a  black-haired  young  man,  who  came  running 
across  the  field,  wildly  waving  his  Panama  hat. 
With  a  joyous  shout,  Walter  scampered  to 
meet  Senor  Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro,  who  ex- 
plained in  his  dramatic  fashion: 
204 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

"I  have  just  now  arrived  from  Colombia  in 
the  nick  of  time  to  behold  you  play  the  grand 
sport  of  base-ball,  my  dear  friend.  My  steamer 
lands  me  at  Balboa  this  morning.  I  jump  for 
the  train.  I  rush.  I  am  in  the  break-neck 
hurry,  and  here  I  am." 

"This  is  a  glad  reunion.  And  General  Que- 
sada  and  his  parrot  will  bother  you  no  more  for 
some  time,"  cried  Walter. 

"So  I  have  heard.  He  is  locked  up  in  Uncle 
Sam's  hotel  with  the  iron  bars,  which  is  a  very 
good  place  for  him.  I  am  going  back  to  Wash- 
ington to  be  a  diplomat  some  more.  And  how 
is  that  dear  family  of  yours?  What  do  you  hear 
from  them?" 

"They  are  all  here,"  exclaimed  Walter,  as  he 
dragged  the  surprised  Colombian  toward  the 
grandstand.  You  may  be  sure  that  Mrs. 
Goodwin  and  her  daughter  found  this  young 
man  entertaining  company,  for  he  promptly 
delivered  himself  of  a  eulogy  of  Walter  as  a 
noble,  splendid  young  man  who  had  saved  his 
life.  In  his  own  country  girls  of  fourteen  were 
young  ladies  and  to  be  treated  as  such,  where- 
fore he  instantly  lost  his  heart  to  Eleanor  and 
205 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

was  so  flatteringly  attentive  that  she  felt  very 
grown-up  indeed. 

Their  animated  conversation  ceased  when  the 
Cristobal  players  took  their  positions  in  the 
field,  and  the  first  of  the  Culebra  batsmen 
marched  to  the  plate.  Mr.  Horatio  Goodwin 
actually  shut  his  eyes  when  Walter  was  ready 
to  deliver  the  ball.  There  was  one  other  spec- 
tator quite  as  fidgety  as  he.  It  was  that  de- 
voted patron  of  Isthmian  base-ball,  Major 
Glendinning. 

The  opponents  from  Culebra  were  brawny 
men,  and  they  were  not  at  all  interested  in  the 
emotions  of  the  Goodwin  family.  They  pro- 
posed to  hammer  the  young  Cristobal  pitcher 
out  of  the  box,  and  during  the  first  and  second 
innings  it  looked  as  if  they  might  be  suc- 
cessful. That  temperamental  dynamite  expert, 
Naughton,  slumped  in  a  disconsolate  heap  when 
he  beheld  Walter's  pitching  pounded  for  one 
hard,  clean  hit  after  another.  The  game  was 
still  young,  however,  and  the  Cristobal  field- 
ing was  sharp  and  steady. 

Walter  gritted  his  teeth  and  took  his  pun- 
ishment manfully.  Jack  Devlin  was  catching 
206 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

for  Culebra,  and  as  Walter  came  to  the  bat, 
the  steam-shovel  man  muttered  behind  his 
mask: 

"  See  here,  my  boy.  I'll  turn  traitor  for  once. 
I  want  to  see  you  make  good.  I  am  responsible 
for  you.  Don't  try  to  win  on  your  speed.  Ease 
up.  Save  yourself.  Use  your  head.  You  go 
at  things  too  hard." 

Here  was  friendship  indeed.  Devlin  was 
as  loyal  to  the  Culebra  nine  as  he  was  to 
the  devouring  monster  of  a  steam-shovel,  old 
Twenty-six,  but  he  felt  that  as  "Walter's  god- 
father by  brevet"  he  was  hi  honor  bound  to 
stick  to  him  through  thick  and  thin.  The  advice 
was  sound.  Already  Walter  had  felt  warning 
twinges  in  his  arm.  He  became  more  deliber- 
ate and  wary,  and  Culebra's  batting  streak  was 
checked.  The  Cristobal  partisans  cheered  him 
lustily,  and  that  elderly  gentleman  of  large 
affairs,  Major  Glendinning,  was  guilty  of  pound- 
ing a  perfect  stranger  on  the  back.  Then 
"Bucky  "  Harrison  and  his  comrades  rallied  and 
dismayed  the  Culebra  pitcher  by  driving  in 
three  runs,  which  tied  the  score. 

The  game  seesawed  for  some  tune,  while 
207 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

Walter  Goodwin  became  more  effective  and 
cool-headed.  The  fateful  seventh  inning  ar- 
rived, and  the  score  still  stood  at  6-6.  Then 
Cristobal  gained  a  run  on  a  timely  hit.  A 
little  later,  Culebra  filled  the  bases  with  two 
men  out.  Walter  hitched  up  his  belt  and 
stole  a  glance  at  the  grandstand.  Eleanor  was 
leaning  forward,  lips  parted,  hands  clasped, 
"wishing  hard  enough  to  win,"  as  he  had  so 
often  beheld  her  on  the  high-school  field  at 
Wolverton.  He  turned  to  face  the  Culebra 
batter,  a  bronzed  six-footer  of  the  steam- 
shovel  brigade.  Just  then  there  came  booming 
across  the  field  the  voice  of  Naughton : 

"Oh,  you  Goodwin!  Remember  how  you 
handled  the  stuff  on  the  dynamite  ship.  This 
is  easy." 

This  was  the  right  word  in  due  season. 
Walter  realized  that  he  had  stood  the  test  of  a 
bigger  game  than  this,  that  he  had  proved  him- 
self in  the  day's  work.  As  methodically  as  if 
he  were  carrying  cases  of  dynamite  across  the 
deck,  he  turned  and  sent  the  ball  breaking 
across  the  corner  of  the  plate.  The  Culebra 
giant  swung  at  it  as  if  he  expected  to  drive  a 
208 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

home-run  into  the  Caribbean  Sea.  "One  strike," 
called  the  umpire.  The  next  ball  floated  lazily 
and  so  deceived  the  batter  that  he  made  no 
attempt  to  hit  it.  A  third  ball  was  batted  high 
in  air  to  fall  into  the  waiting  paws  of  "Bucky" 
Harrison. 

Walter  had  pitched  himself  out  of  the  tightest 
corner  of  the  game  against  the  most  formidable 
team  of  the  Isthmian  League.  The  game  was 
won,  for  during  the  last  two  innings  neither 
side  was  able  to  score. 

Walter's  friends  gathered  around  him  as  he 
pressed  through  the  crowd  to  join  his  family 
in  the  grandstand.  Naughton  marched  at  one 
elbow,  Jack  Devlin  at  the  other.  Mr.  Horatio 
Goodwin  was  earnestly  shaking  hands  with  his 
wife,  nor  did  he  foresee  that  henceforth  he  was 
to  be  known  on  the  Isthmus,  not  by  his  own 
very  respectable  name  and  station,  but  as  "the 
father  of  the  kid  pitcher."  Eleanor  was  con- 
fiding to  Fernandez  Garcia  Alfaro: 

"He  is  the  most  wonderful  brother  that  ever 

was.    I  wish  I  could  show  you  the  bust  that  I 

made  of  modelling-clay.    The  firmly  moulded 

chin  was  prophetic.     I  can't  understand  how 

209 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

they  managed  to  dig  so  much  of  the  Panama 
Canal  without  him." 

Alfaro  was  as  delighted  over  all  the  good  fort- 
une which  had  come  to  the  Goodwin  family  as 
if  it  had  happened  to  himself. 

"I  shall  go  to  Washington  and  be  a  diplomat 
with  a  heart  full  of  the  greatest  gladness,"  he 
shouted  to  Walter.  "Viva  everybody!" 

Jack  Devlin  approached  rather  sheepishly 
and  eyed  Mr.  Goodwin  uneasily  as  he  confessed: 

"About  that  money-order  I  sneaked  to  you 
with  the  best  of  intentions.  It  made  you  so 
much  worry  and  false  alarm  about  the  boy  that 
I  ought  to  be  kicked.  Here  is  where  I  apolo- 
gize." 

"It  was  the  most  brilliant  inspiration  you 
ever  had,"  cheerfully  replied  the  father  of 
Walter. 

"Your  generous  impulse  was  one  of  the 
causes  that  brought  us  to  the  Isthmus  to  live," 
added  Mrs.  Goodwin.  "You  had  something 
to  do  with  reuniting  the  family.  We  feel  under 
great  obligations  to  you." 

"Everything  has  ended  so  happily!"  came 
from  the  radiant  Eleanor.  "Life  is  uninterest- 
210 


BASE-BALL  AND  A  HAPPY  FAMILY 

ing  unless  there  are  a  few  complications  to  look 
back  on  as  one  grows  older." 

In  the  evening  Jack  Devlin  called  at  the 
cottage  under  the  palms  at  Cristobal,  beside 
the  white  beach  and  the  flashing  sea.  He 
wished  to  pay  his  formal  respects  to  the  Good- 
win family,  believing  himself  largely  respon- 
sible for  their  migration. 

"There  have  been  times  when  that  lad  of 
yours  wished  he  had  never  set  eyes  on  me,"  he 
said  to  Mr.  Goodwin,  "but  I  reckon  I'm  for- 
given. He  had  a  good  berth  in  the  commissary, 
but  I  am  hoping  he  will  want  to  tackle  a  grown 
man's  job  after  a  while.  If  you  want  to  finish 
his  schooling  I  will  say  no  more,  but  there  is  no 
all-round  education  in  the  world  like  holding 
down  a  job  on  the  Panama  Canal." 

"Walter  informs  me  that  he  wishes  to  become 
a  mechanical  engineer,"  replied  Mr.  Goodwin. 
"My  parental  authority  has  been  rather  shaky 
ever  since  my  son  recommended  me  to  Major 
Glendinning.  It  will  be  some  time  before  I 
dare  to  assert  my  rights  as  the  head  of  the 

family." 

"Father  is  joking,"  exclaimed  Walter.    "My 

211 


THE  STEAM-SHOVEL  MAN 

family  responsibilities  did  give  me  some  worry, 
but  they  are  off  my  hands." 

"Then  with  your  father's  permission,  you  will 
begin  your  real  education  with  a  fireman's 
shovel,  feeding  coal  into  old  Twenty-six,"  said 
Devlin.  "It  is  not  an  easy  school,  but  I  think 
you  can  stand  up  to  it  by  next  summer." 

"It  sounds  like  a  great  place  for  a  husky 
young  fellow,"  blithely  quoted  Walter,  and 
Devlin  indulged  in  a  reminiscent  grin. 

"I  think  I  told  you  something  like  that  once 
upon  a  time,"  said  he. 

"You  spoke  words  of  wisdom,"  was  Walter's 
emphatic  verdict.  "I  am  sure  that  father  and 
mother  will  agree  that  your  advice  was  gilt- 
edged.  I  am  not  looking  for  easy  work.  I  want 
to  help  dig  the  Panama  Canal.  It  will  be  some- 
thing to  feel  proud  of  all  my  life.  And  before 
the  Culebra  Cut  is  finished  and  the  big  ships  go 
sailing  through,  I  intend  to  be  a  full-fledged 
steam-shovel  man." 

THE  END 


212 


BOOKS  BY  RALPH  D.  PAINE 
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Illustrated,  12mo.    $1.25 

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CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK 


BOOKS  BY  RALPH  D.  PAINE 


COLLEGE  SERIES 

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"A  jolly,  rollicking,  bully  narration." — Boston  Globe. 

"Good,  clean,  and  wholesome,  filled  with  the  atmosphere  of 
athletic  and  out-of-door  living  and  thinking." 

— Richmond  Times-Dispatch. 

"The  hero  is  a  first-rate  story  and  his  mistakes  and  triumphs 
make  a  first-rate  story." — Boston  Transcript. 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK 


BOOKS  BY  RALPH  D.  PAINE 


COLLEGE  SERIES- Continued 

Sandy  Sawyer,  Sophomore 

Illustrated,  12mo.    $1.50 

"There  is  no  little  fun  and  humor  in  the  book,  and  Sandy  with  his 
push  and  enterprise  is  a  most  likable  young  fellow." 
,  — Springfield  Republican. 

1 '  Sandy  Sawyer,  Sophomore,'  is  a  clean,  healthy  book,  the  kind 
that  makes  you  as  an  adult  wish  you  could  be  young  again  for 
the  keener  pleasure  the  book  would  give  you;  but  even  the 
deadened  sensibilities,  when  school  days  are  becoming  a  dim  recol- 
lection, cannot  lessen  your  appreciation  of  how  a  boy  would  enjoy 
this  book.  .  .  .  The  author  preaches  cleanness  and  fairness  in 
classroom  and  on  athletic  field." — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


The  Fugitive  Freshman 

Illustrated,  12mo.    $1.50 

"  A  mysterious  disappearance,  a  wreck,  the  real  thing  in  a  game 
of  baseball  are  but  a  few  of  the  excitements  the  book  contains, 
which  are  presented  as  only  Mr.  Paine  can  present  them." 

— Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  Wherever  he  goes  he  takes  with  him  the  college  atmosphere, 
and  while  away  engages  in  many  entertaining  adventures." 

— Boston  Globe. 

"Ralph  D.  Paine  has  never  told  a  better  story  for  boys  than  in 
'The  Fugitive  Freshman.'  His  young  hero  disappears  from 
college  because  he  fears  his  father's  wrath  over  the  debts  he  has 
piled  up  and  has  all  kinds  of  adventures.  It  is  an  excellent  book 
because  the  author  is  never  sensational.  He  points  good  morals 
without  any  preaching."— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


BOOKS  BY  RALPH  D.  PAINE 


COLLEGE  SERIES  —  Continued 

The  Head  Coach 

Illustrated,  12mo.    $1.50 

"The  book  is  so  compact  of  healthy  young  manliness  and  depicts 
so  many  sound-hearted  characters  in  so  winning  a  way  that  it 
deserves  unusual  success." — Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 

"How  the  coach  won  out  is  a  tale  of  plenty  of  incident  and  ex- 
citement to  suit  any  foot-ball  enthusiast,  which  is  saying  a  good 
deal.  And,  it  may  be  added,  the  romance  is  not  all  of  the  grid- 
iron."— Minneapolis  Journal. 

"A  manly  story  related  in  straightforward  fashion." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

College  Years 

Illustrated,  12mo.    $1.50 

"Extremely  life-like  and  accurate  pictures  of  the  campus.  .  .  . 
Every  boy  who  intends  to  go  to  college  will  want  to  read  these 
stories." — Yale  Alumni  Weekly. 

"  Breezy,  spirited,  vigorous  .  .  .  reflects  the  best  part  of  college 
life  as  the  student  himself  sees  it." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"Those  who  like  rollicking  fun  and  the  stirring  affairs  of  college 
athletics  will  enjoy  thoroughly  Mr.  Paine's  yarns.  They  are 
pervaded  with  the  college  atmosphere." — Springfield  Republican. 

"  Like  the  other  books  for  which  this  author  is  known,  '  College 
Years '  is  of  a  spirited  and  wholesome  character  that  is  sure  to 
win  for  it  many  readers." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"Each  story  deals  satisfactorily  with  its  own  field  of  effort 
The  author's  enthusiasm  for  athletics  and  Yale  is  catching." 

— New  York  Sun. 


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